


Forevermore

by winter_angst



Series: Twilight [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Twilight, F/M, Internal Conflict, M/M, Murder, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Pining, Requited Love, Slow Burn, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Brock turns from the object of Jack's hunt to the focus of an obsession.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Twilight [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2142930
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

Jack prowled between streetlights, sticking to the safety of the shadows. He was safe now, under the cover of night. Jack was safe but the citizens in the city weren’t. New York was a big city, lots of boroughs to pick and choose from. Hunting too much in one would draw suspicion and suspicion brought the Volturi. It was best to play it safe. 

A human walked by and Jack could hear her beating heart, the blood rushing through her veins and his throat seared with thirst. It had been too long since his last trip. A homicide — a real one, not a feeding — had put a hitch in his plan as the borough took cover early as the initial hysteria broke out. But now, a week later, it was already forgotten and the streets were once more filled with warm bodies…potential meals for Jack. 

Jack remembered stalking the streets in Paris and in Sicily all those years ago. Back then he was just learning control, just barely getting a handle on what he was. By the time he found his way to England he had taught himself to suppress the thirst, to occupy his mind with something else. 

But tonight he was hunting. He rounded the block when the smell hit him. It was faint but it was  _heavenly._ Sweet, so very very sweet with a spicy kick to it…ambrosial -- brown sugar and cinnamon. Never in Jack’s years had he caught scent of a human with such a scent. Immediately all the other scents around him feel flat, repulsive. 

He needed this blood. 

Jack followed the trail down an alleyway, past a drunken man struggling to stay standing — prime prey — and out to the busy street. The strip was lit up with clubs and bars. All the scents muddled Jack’s target for a moment but it wasn’t difficult to refocus his nose after a brief adjustment. 

The smell was stronger, a warm aroma rather than a faint hint. Jack was on the right track. He followed it down the street, weaving between club goers and their revealing clothing. At one time seeing so much skin expose, especially around the throat, risked Jack losing control. Even now, with his focus on another, the thirst flickered in throat. Jack ignored it and pressed on. 

It all came to a head when he found himself in front of a small bar, Razzy’s according to the sign. Jack knew he’d have to draw out his prey but that was fine. He was well equipped to draw in anyone. It made him the perfect hunter, being flawless. His build, his muscles, his face were all features to woo his prey. Jack pushed open the door, pleased to find it was dimly lit. 

The mood shifted completely from the busy street where nerves and pheromones were running rampant. This seemed like a place where only the sad and hopeless would be. In the case of Jack’s prey things truly were hopeless. Jack could see perfectly, even in the low lighting, but it would work in his favor, softening his perfections in their weak human eyes so they wouldn’t be quite as taken aback that Jack was showing interest in them. It would also take some attention away from how pale he was. 

His prey was sitting at the bar, a man, wearing jeans and a worn tee shirt. He was hunched over a bit, a beer in hand. Venom filled Jack’s mouth as he inhaled, taking a full hit of his scent like a junkie. It was concentrated in the building, the others fading to the background. He crossed the space between them and the fire in throat turned into an inferno. 

His prey had his hand wrapped around a Bud Lite. 

“May I buy you another?” was Jack’s opening.

His prey tilted his head up, exposing his throat in the most beautiful of ways. Jack could feed right now then he could slaughter the whole room before they had a chance to react. It was a fantasy, however, and he knew it. As his prey looked at him with the eyes that were strikingly beautiful — amber, like melted honey with flecks of gold — and that distracted him so much that, for a moment, he didn’t feel the fire in his throat. The man’s jaw fell slack as he looked up at him, the way most humans reacted to such…perfection. 

“Ye-yeah, yes, please… I… Uh, thank-thank you.”

Jack smiled and listened to the man’s heart pound, circulating that delicious smelling blood even faster. Jack turned his attention to the bartender who had been drawn their way since Jack first entered. She looked tired but her eyes were sharp and color had pooled into cheeks. She was already reaching for a beer. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she managed with a nervous titter of laughter afterwards. She passed the bottle to Brock and hurried away to watch from afar. 

“I’m Jack,” he kept his voice warm as he slid the beer in front of him. It was clear that the man was attracted to him, the way most people are, and that made Jack’s job all the more easy. “What’s your name?”

“Brock…Rumlow. Brock Rumlow. ”

He stumbled over his words, face flushing. That sweet blood so close to Jack, human skin so fragile and easily torn was all that separated them. The burn was fierce and nearly all consuming. Jack squeezed his hands into fists and steadied himself. He wasn’t a newborn, he had more control than that. His easy smile never left his face; he was so close he could taste it. 

“Brock Rumlow,” Jack tested the name on his tongue as he looked the man over. To a human it looked like attraction — he was ignorant to the real reason Jack was looking him over. “How’s your night so far?”

Brock seemed a bit dazed but upon hearing the question but then he looked away and huffed, “Shitty, thanks for asking.”

Ah, there was little Jack hated more than useless mortal problems. But still he asked, “What happened?”

“What happened,” Brock echoed. He took a long drink from his beer. “I got fired.”

So very petty. “I’m sorry.” 

He put as much emotion into those two words as he could and it seemed to work because Brock’s heart took off pounding again, more blood pooling beneath the thin sheath of skin that was his cheeks. Brock toyed with the bottle, clearly mulling over what to say next. 

“My boss made a move on me.” He finally said, voice soft with shame. “She’s married and I don’t even… I wasn’t interested. She didn’t take it well.”

Human predators stalked among the humans too, after all. Jack would never be that kind of monster, nor would he tolerate being around one. This was shaping up to being a tough day for Brock. Losing his job and his life within hours of each other. A strange feeling crept over Jack, a feeling that he didn’t have a name for. He tried to push it to the back of his mind, dreaming about the taste this blood would have, how hot and thick it would be sliding down this throat, extinguishing the white hot flames of pain. The pain burned brighter at the thought. 

“That sounds awful.” Jack was just biding his time, lulling this Brock into a false sense of security so he could bring him to the safety of the shadows where he could feed. 

“It’s just a job.” Brock blew out a breath and picked up the beer. “Just sucks I’ll have to find another.” 

_No you won’t._

Brock snuck a side look at him and addressed his lack of drink. Usually his prey was too dazzled by him, too consumed by his attention that they missed the little technicalities. This Brock was… interesting. He wasn’t like most of his prey, and not just because he was male. Jack scrutinized him a bit closer. There was intelligence behind those honey-hued eyes, character and depth. But they were honest eyes, warm. 

“Aren’t you going to get a drink?” 

“I’m not in the mood,” he lied smoothly. He smiled just hear Brock’s heart rabbit away in his chest. And it did. Lovely. 

“Why go to a bar if you’re not in the mood to drink? Unless you’re just looking for a hookup,” Brock tacked on the lack part morosely and Jack found himself questioning his angle. 

After his experience he may not have been very receptive. A frown pulled his lips downward and Brock’s eyes lit up in concern. Jack was struck with the urge to smooth the look from his face. “I’m actually looking for more…companionship.” 

“Companionship,” Brock repeated deadly. “No offense but a guy that looks like you shouldn’t have any trouble making friends.” 

Jack smiled and Brock’s heart took off once more. He didn’t think he’d tire of that reaction, especially with the way blood pooled beneath the skin of his face and up his neck where Jack was already imagining his teeth puncturing his flesh, gorging on the blood that was singing to him. 

“Good friends are hard to come by.” Jack nudged the beer bottle towards him and Brock grasped it on impulse but looked down like he didn’t remember doing so. “Tell me about yourself, Brock.” 

Another pounding of his heart, more flushing. Delectable. “There’s not much to tell,” Brock mumbled, taking a drink from the beer bottle to distract himself. “I’m pretty boring.” 

“No one is boring.” Jack found humans boring in general but he could cope with hearing about Brock. It was rare what Jack had stumbled upon. A vampire finding humans who blood sung to them was a tale as old as time, a myth in most circles. But now Jack knew it to be true. “What was your job?” 

“I sold cars.” A drink from the bottle. “Lame, right?” 

Jack missed driving. When they eventually left the city they went somewhere rural and Jack would be able to drive again. In the city it was too congested and the idea of being trapped motionless in traffic was akin to torture. 

“I don’t think so.”

Another flutter of his heart. Interesting. Jack was impressed by his hesitance. Typically his prey came to him willingly, Jack never had to work for it. All it took was a bit of a strategy to ensure that when he fed he could do so without being seen. But Brock was making him work for his blood, coercing him to talk and open up even though his physical tells suggest he was attracted to Jack. 

_Interesting._

“Thanks…I guess.”

He guesses? Jack had so much he could learn from this human. He wanted to pick him apart and see how he worked. How his will rendered him immune to Jack’s charms when all that came before him weren’t. 

Jack smiled. Brock’s heart pounded. 

“Is this your favorite beer?” Jack prodded, he needed to keep him talking, needed to gain his trust. 

“It’s a beer,” Brock replied, unhelpfully. 

He certainly was going to make Jack work for it in a way he never had before. It was more fascinating than it was frustrating. Jack was being afforded the opportunity to really pick apart how this human’s mind worked before he died. If Jack was human he might have been discouraged but Jack wasn’t going to allow himself to be distracted. His sweet scent was all consuming, stoking the flames in his throat and the desire in his heart. 

“Am I bothering you?” Jack could always hunt him when he left, though he thought about it regretfully. 

“No,” Brock said immediately, heart fluttering. “I’m sorry, I’m just being… Difficult.” 

_Good._ “Difficult?” 

“I can be stubborn,” he admitted with reluctance, as if he was forced to say it. 

“Stubborn can be a good thing,” Jack embellished. 

Brock laughed without any trace of humor and brought the beer to his lips. “If you say so. What about you? You’re asking me all these questions and I haven’t asked you anything.” 

That was unusual as well. Typically human’s vanity made them enjoy his attention, relishing in attention from something that looked like Jack. “What do you want to know?” Jack couldn’t mask the surprise from his voice and Brock looked at him oddly. 

“Well…what do you do?” 

“I’m between jobs at the moment.” 

Jack had yet to find a nighttime position in a morgue. He had acquired plenty of money in the century and a half he’d been undead. Working was mostly a reprieve from monotonous time cooped up inside. Brock laughed in disbelief. “What, no model contractors hiring?” 

Jack offered a wry smile. “Something like that.” 

“So if you don’t work, what do you do?” 

“Meet people.” That wasn’t a lie, he was just omitting what happened after he met people. “Spend time with my friends.” 

“So you  _do_ have friends.” 

“Well of course.” 

“Then what do you need me for?” Brock inquired with a depreciating frown. 

Jack was once more struck by the urge to smooth such an expression from his face. He didn’t understand why he regarded himself so humbly, he was remarkable for a human. Even skin a beautiful olive color, beautifully sculpted cheekbones, a strong jawline, full pouty lips  _and those eyes…_ Had his fellow humans not noticed? How could they have overlooked such mortal perfection when it was right in front of them? Most importantly -- how could Brock not know how lovely he was? 

“You can never have enough friends.” Jack frowned and Brock mirrored it. Jack changed the topic so he didn’t have to see such an expression any longer. “Have you been in New York long?” 

“All my life. Brooklyn born and raised.” 

Ah, so Jack had guessed correctly. Still, he was far from his borough. Fate had brought him Razzy’s and his demise. What a fickle bitch she was. Jack inhaled his scent deeply before he spoke. The burn raged, venom pooled. The warm body was so close… But his instincts were overpowered by his curiosity. Brock was different from his usual prey. Not only was he pretty but he was unlike any human he had come across in all his years hunting and blending among them. It was strikingly different. Brock was something else entirely. Not only was his blood singing to him but he begged to be picked apart and understood. 

“Are you still there?” 

“Nah, I moved a few years ago. Got tired of my place being broken into and my shit stolen.” He sounded bitter, as a normal human was. Maybe Jack was reading too much into him. “I needed a change of pace anyway. New place, new you -- you know how that goes.” 

Jack certainly did. He and his friends had to move every decade before people started to clue in that they weren’t aging and to avoid overhunting and risking the Volturi raining their wrath down upon them. Their coven was small but they were a tight knit group that had each other's back. They would go to war for each other. Jack was looking forward to recanting the tale of his feast on the blood that sang to him. At least he  _was_ . Now he was wondering why he was rushing. He was thirsty but not so thirsty that he risked losing control anytime soon. Surely he could spend a bit more time with Brock. Understand him, find out what it was that intrigued him so and why he stood out starkly among them. 

“Indeed I do.” 

Brock gave him that puzzled look again, a look that made Jack question if he had said something completely out of style. But as soon as the look was directed at him it was gone and Brock was back to drinking his beer. “At least let me buy you a drink.” 

“No thank you,” Jack wasn’t in the mood to go home and cough up beer. “Is this new place more to your liking?” 

“It’s quiet. I don’t mind the quiet but I miss the noise sometimes. No late night gunshots, which is nice, but no life either. Everyone is in bed by ten o’clock and from there until six am it’s just…silence.” 

“You don’t like the silence?” 

“It unnerves me.” Brock flushed as if he couldn’t believe he’d shared such a piece of information. “I mean… It’s different is all.” 

Jack made a sound of sympathy and Brock sighed. “What about you? Where are you from?” 

“I move around a lot.” 

“Where are you living now?” 

“Staten Island.” 

Brock’s eyes popped open and he gave Jack an open sweep. “You’re between jobs and you live in Staten Island?” 

“I have roommates.” 

“What are you doing Manhattan?” Brock asked, a good question that Jack hadn’t idiotically not expected. Brock was smart. Jack added that to the list of traits he had tallied in his head. 

“I like to try new places.” 

“You could be at the nice bars in Staten Island and you choose some dive like Razzy’s?” Brock shook his head and took a drink. “You’re crazy.” 

“Maybe.” Jack was feeling a bit…unhinged the longer he spoke to this human. “What made you choose Manhattan?” 

“I didn’t want to get robbed anymore,” Brock said dryly. “And I couldn’t afford Staten Island. Plus, hell, the commute would have been a pain in the ass.” A shadow passed his features and his lips turned downward. Jack felt anxious. “Not that it matters anymore.” 

“It’s just a job, you’ll find a new one.” Jack found himself saying despite the fact that the statement wasn’t true. Or was it? He was suddenly undecided on if he would feed tonight or try and drag it out to understand the human better. The burn in his throat urged him towards the former but Jack’s heart, cold and still, wanted to know the human better. 

“Yeah. It’s just a headache, you know?” 

Jack found job searches easy. Beauty triumphed in their world and it qualified him for anything. Typically he found himself working with cadavers, dead and cold much like him. Night work was imperative due to the reaction their skin had with the sun. Days were their nights. 

“Yes,” he lied. “But you’re smart. You’ll get something.” 

“Smart? Me? You’ve got the wrong guy.” 

Jack frowned at that. Hearing Brock talk down about himself triggered an urge to protect him, even from himself. Jack had never wanted to protect a human before. He didn’t understand what was happening. 

“No I don’t. I can see it in your eyes. You’re very smart.” Jack said firmly, perhaps too firmly because Brock drew back a bit at the sudden edge in his voice. He tried to smooth it over with a smile. Brock’s heartbeat picked up. Jack inhaled. The fire burned. “You’ll get something.” 

“Yeah, yeah I know.” Brock took a drink of his beer, giving him a sideways look as he did so. He set down the bottle with a clink and tapped his fingers against the glass. Jack looked at it, it’s imperfect surface full of scratches and divots. “So you want to be friends, hm?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then I guess we should hang out again. I mean, if you’re still interested.” Brock looked nervous. 

Jack caught his honey gaze and smiled. “I would like that.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Jack let himself into the brownstone and hung up his jacket. He could hear the TV on and upstairs he could hear Natasha’s light footsteps. Steve and Bucky were still out hunting. Clint and Natasha had finished early. The fire in his throat burned furiously reminding him that he had yet to feed. He should have hunted someone else after he made plans with the human but he was too distracted. Perhaps he would go back out later. Clint ran to meet him, the blond man grinning from ears to ear stilling riding the blood high. 

“How’d it go?” 

“I met a human.” 

“And?” 

“And nothing.” Jack slipped past him. 

“You didn’t feed?” Clint badged following behind him. Jack heard Natasha’s footsteps and she was standing in front of him. 

The two made quite a couple. Natasha had been beautiful before she was turned and the transformation had amplified that beauty into something ethereal. She had a blazing red hair that fell in glossy locks around her thin shoulders, framing her narrow face. Her eyes matched her hair, big, bright and dark red from her recent feeding. Her lips were full and vermillion in the color. She was slender with an hourglass figure. Her skin was a stark contrast to her hair and eyes, marble pale and unblemished. Clint, too, had been handsome before he was turned. His transformation had enhanced his chiseled facial features, straightened out a nose that had been broken several times, and defined his muscles. His shoulders were broad with a burly chest and blond hair.

Clint had fallen for her, as men often did, but Natasha had reciprocated those feelings so it was only natural that she turned him. As a newborn Clint had been a handful, impulsive and bloodthirsty as they all were when they were young. But his devotion to Natasha was always stronger than his thirst so he held onto control the best he could. Jack never understood the risk. Taking on a newborn was a huge risk to the safety of the one who turned them. Should they lose control and risk exposure the Volturi would eliminate both the creator and the newborn. Natasha showed no fear, or perhaps trusted Clint more than the rest of them did. 

“You didn’t feed?” she echoed his question, voice mezzo-soprano. “What happened?” 

“I found a human whose blood sang to me.” Jack wondered if they’d believe him. 

A curious light entered Natasha’s eyes while Clint cocked his head in confusion. He was too young to know about such things. “And the human still breathes?” She sounded just as skeptical as he felt when he walked away from Brock on the sidewalk in front of Razzy’s. 

“He’s…interesting.” 

“A human?” How quickly Clint had abandoned him humanity as he embraced the life of an immortal. A decade and a half ago he had been one of the same. 

“A human,” Jack confirmed dryly. He went to the living room. It was full of modern furniture. They updated every few years to stay on top of trends. The last thing they needed was to draw eyes due to outdated belongings. Except for Steve of course. He clung onto a few things from the 40s with fierce protectiveness that they figured it could be shrugged off as a collection. “He’s not like a normal human.” 

“What’s he like then?” Clint demanded. 

He seemed personally offended that Jack had let the human continue to live. He’d yet to have an unsuccessful hunt however so perhaps he was questioning Jack’s abilities. He tried not to get irritated. He stood in front of the window and stared outside. The streets were empty, much like Brock had pointed out everyone was in bed by 10 o’clock — except of course those who didn’t sleep. 

“Like nothing I’ve encountered before.” 

“So what will you do?” Natasha asked, appearing at his shoulder. 

Jack drew in a breath. He missed Brock’s scent even with the pain it caused him. “I’m seeing him tomorrow night.” 

“You’re going on a  _date_ ?” Clint cried, outraged. 

Jack turned and drew his lips over his teeth. The blond copied it and Natasha stepped between them. “Enough. Jack, you know how dangerous that is. Being seen is — ”

“Dangerous, I know. And no one said it was a date.” It risked association. Jack wasn’t someone easily forgotten. If police began to investigate it wouldn’t take long for him to be dragged in and the Volturi had their roots in every law enforcement bureau in the world. He wouldn’t survive an investigation. “But I have to.” 

“Have to?” Clint cried. “The only thing you _have_ to do is go and finish him off now.” 

“He’s right.” Natasha said, rubbing dirt in the wound. “If his blood is singing to you then you’ll be compelled to hunt him down eventually. You need to take care of it tonight.” 

Jack knew they were right and that stung. He wanted to understand Brock better, wanted to see how that mind of his worked and look into those honey eyes. “Okay.” 

Clint seemed to have settled, tension sapped from his body as he offered a bit of condolence towards what he finally recognized as a loss for Jack. “Sorry but it’s gotta happen, man.” 

Jack grunted, already at the door, jacket on. The ferry ride was painfully long — he could have already swam there and back ten times over — but it helped delay the inevitable. He knew that Natasha was right, that eventually his interest would fade and his thirst would send him after the sweetest blood he’d ever smelled. He found his way back to Razzy’s at two am and picked up Brock’s scent with ease. He followed the sweet smell down the sidewalk, across three crosswalks and four blocks until he was standing in front of an apartment building. The streets were deserted and the lobby empty. Jack ran through, too fast for a security camera to pick him up. He followed the scent up the steps to the third floor and apartment 306. 

The scent was concentrated there, thick and fragrant. Venom pooled in Jack’s mouth and the fire raged. It wasn’t difficult to jimmy the door open and he closed it too quietly for human ears to pick up on. The apartment was dark and still. The furniture was sparse, fitting for a bachelor. A large TV and one couch, all doused in Brock’s heavenly scent. Jack explored the apartment, putting off his kill. The kitchen was stocked as Jack expected from the health conscious man, plenty of healthy fats and leafy greens. He had a box of Coors Light that was partially depleted and the trash had been recently removed, the bag empty in the bin. No dishes were in the sink, a single plate resting on the dishrack. Everything was as it should be. Brock had an orderly life that had been thrown through a loop because of the despicable actions of a different kind of predator. 

Jack followed his nose to his bedroom. It was as sparsely furnished as the rest of the apartment, a double bed, a night stand, a bureau with a small TV on it. A fan rested on the nightstand pointed away from Brock’s face. Jack walked soundlessly to the edge of the bed. Brock was shirtless, his torso bare and muscular. He was perfect, Jack realized suddenly as he swept his eyes over him. He wore a pair of spandex underwear. His skin popped against the burgundy fabric, bringing out the rosy glow of blood beneath his skin. Brock had an arm thrown over his face, mouth slightly slack, breathing deep and even. Jack couldn’t remember what it felt like to sleep but watching Brock sleep gave him a stab of misplaced jealousy. What it would be like to escape reality, even if it was only for a few hours. But more than jealous Jack felt…enamored. This beautiful human was complex and different and the idea of ending such a life, even with a scent as extramundane as his, was distressing. 

He shifted to the corner of the room and dropped to a crouch. Jack was at war with himself. His thirst and common sense told him one thing, but his heart said another. Feeling a bit like an addict he took another huff of Brock’s scent, trying to let his thirst tip the scales. It tried, it really did. But his heart surged to counter it. Lost, Jack stayed and watched Brock sleep. He didn’t breath, didn’t blink, he just watched and let himself get tangled in his thoughts. Brock slept soundly, no tossing or turning. Not a whimper or whine. Just still. Like he was dead already. 

Jack’s heart squeezed uncomfortably and he resigned himself to the fact that Brock Rumlow wasn’t going to die tonight and he was going to have hell to pay once he returned home. He left the apartment when the dawn threatened to break. He spent his time on the ferry pacing. It took effort to keep it slow but he got wary looks from other nighttime passengers, night workers coming off shift. It was hard to bother with fitting in and not drawing eyes when he had something so heavy weighing on his mind. For the first time he appreciated how slow the ferry was; returning back home without red eyes was going to expose that he hadn’t gone through with his promise and Clint was going to rage. 

He had every right to be worried — guilt by association was the Volturi’s approach problems. He was risking not only himself and Brock, but his friends as well. But he just _couldn’t_ kill him. Not yet anyway. Not until he got to speak to him once more, got to ask all his questions and gain somewhat of an understanding of what it was that drew him in. It was more than his physical perfection and his lack of recognition of it. There was just something _more_ to him. Something he’d yet to find in a human. The ferry docked and Jack was struck by the sudden thought that he could keep Brock’s survival underwraps until he was better equipped to deal with it. 

Hunting so near dawn was dangerous, especially so close to home, but it was the only way he could guarantee that the others wouldn’t take it upon themselves to eliminate the threat. They’d already smelt Brock on him. Natasha had a nose like no other and hunted prey with a determination that frightened even Jack. He tucked himself in the shadows of an alley by the docks as the sky started to take on a faint pink hue. He was in a time crunch and that added to the stress of selecting someone and feeding before someone came by and saw. With his back against the gritty bricks he watched as a woman walked, eyes on her cellphone, wearing a backpack. On her way to work, he imagined. Unfortunately she wouldn’t make it. She passed by and Jack sprang. He folded a hand over her mouth and dragged her behind a dumpster, a truly pitiful place to eat, and bit down. The venom paralyzed her and trapped her screams in her throat before he snapped her neck. The blood was almost hard to get down after spending so long inhaling the sweet scent of Brock. It went down like cement, tasteless. It extinguished the burn and filled him but that was all. The high that usually came after a feeding was absent as he quickly dumped the body in the empty harbor where the marine life would feed on the body and explain the bite mark before it was found. 

With crimson eyes, Jack returned home. 

Clint was feeling confrontational, meeting him at the door. He took one look, saw the red eyes and grinned. “How was it? Nat explained the ‘singing’ thing. What’s it like? She says it’s the best feeding you’ll ever have.” 

“It was good.” Jack brushed him off going shower to wash away the grime of the city. 

He stared at himself in the mirror, at his starling red eyes and wondered if Brock was rising across the river. He imagined he was. With a towel around his waist he went to his bedroom. It shared a wall with Steve and Bucky which was unfortunate most nights and made him wish he didn’t have such enhanced hearing. He always thought he’d get used to it -- he never did. He threw on clothes and collapsed on the couch, head tilted back. The room was a mix of movies and books collected during his life. Jack was content to mull over the problem of Brock when there came a knock on the door. 

“Come in.” 

He expected Natasha and was surprised to see Bucky. Like the rest of them he was incredibly handsome with pale skin and crimson eyes from a recent feeding. His shoulder length chocolate brown hair was wet, clearly having just stepped out of his own shower. “Hey, Nat told me what happened. Want to talk about it?” 

“No.” 

Bucky ignored it and leaned against the doorframe. “None of us have had that kind of experience so I’m sure it was hard on you.” 

“It was fine,” Jack lied tersely. 

Bucky’s red eyes softened and he took a step inside. “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “But it’s for the best. I can’t risk Steve’s life.” 

Jack’s stomach twinged. He didn’t want to think about the risks he was taking by his lies but they were making it glaringly obvious and difficult to ignore. Because he was taking an insurmountable risk with his friends — his _family._ And for what? A human? But it wasn’t just a human. It was Brock. Brock who didn’t know as well as he wanted to. Once Jack had satisfied that curiosity surely he would be able to feed. As Natasha had pointed out he would be compelled to follow that sweet scent eventually. 

“I know.” 

Bucky offered an encouraging smile and left, closing the door behind him. Jack tried not to let the guilt eat him up too much. 

  * • •• •• ••



They met at Razzy’s again. Brock showing up in a salmon v-neck sweater with a white crew cut beneath that peeked out at the collar. It drew Jack’s eyes. Despite being well fed his scent made his throat sear. Jack stood when he arrived, having claimed the same two barstools they’d occupied the night before. Jack was more anxious than last night, an arsenal of questions cued up. Brock hesitated a moment, heart rate picking up as he looked at Jack. 

“Hi.” 

“Hello, Brock.” 

The human carefully picked his way around him and slid up on the stool. Jack glanced at his throat again and his throat seared. He focused on Brock’s lips again. It was early, just after six, and Jack flagged down the bartender requesting a basket of fries for Brock and a Bud Lite because they must not have Coors. She hesitated, a bit dreamy eyed before she looked at Brock and nodded her head promising to get it right in. 

“How was your day?” Brock asked before Jack got the chance. 

“Uneventful. How about yours?” Jack cared, he found. He didn’t find it as petty as he would have this time the night before. 

“Spent most of it on Indeed. No dealerships are hiring.” Brock seemed very deflated by that and Jack frowned. 

He could always kill one to open up a position for Brock. The thought took him off guard. Never had he thought about doing something for the benefit of a human save for snapping their neck to save them from unnecessary pain during feeding. Brock was changing all of Jack’s rules. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack said and he _was._ He didn’t want anything to upset the human, he was so fragile. “I’m sure something will open up soon.” 

“Yeah well I figure I oughta expand my skill set a bit.” Brock rolled his shoulders. “When I was a kid I wanted to be a personal trainer. Maybe I should try following that dream.” 

Jack’s stomach clenched as he knew that Brock would never achieve such a dream. He was on truly borrowed time. The bartender dropped off the basket fries and a napkin with a number scrawled on it. A bold move from a very average looking female. Brock noticed it and once the bartender was out of ear-range laughed quietly. “I bet you get numbers all the time.” 

“Unfortunately.” Jack crumpled it in his fist and thrust it into his pocket for later disposal. 

“You’re not interested in her, then?” His heartbeat picked up. The unanswered question hung between them: _are you interested in me?_

Where had gone his trepidation at being hit on from last night? Jack felt oddly cornered by having to abruptly acknowledge his feelings. If his heart could beat it would have pounding in time with Brock’s but it couldn’t and his mind was left to churn the question over. Too quickly it came to it’s conclusion and Jack found himself sinking deeply in regret. 

“No, I’m here with you.” 

Brock’s heartbeat, already fast, upticked even higher and Jack worried a moment that it was unhealthy. “Oh,” he croaked. He looked down at the fries and selected one sticking towards him. He bit into the end and chewed as silence strung between them. “Why?” 

It was such an innocent question, a genuine inquiry because he didn’t understand. Jack couldn’t wrap his mind around how he didn’t understand, how he didn’t see himself the way Jack did. How engaging he was, how perfect. Jack could think of a million reasons why but he didn’t want to frighten Brock with being too passionate too early. 

“You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” 

That beautiful blush crept up cheeks and it was easier to appreciate it without burning thirst. It still burned — it always would around Brock — but it was far more tolerable than it had been last night. Jack was glad he had fed. Jack blinked. He had to be careful not to burn through his contacts too soon. Thankfully humans weren’t too perceptive to blinking and Brock looked away from him so often it was rarely needed. Still he put on a front for anyone staring, such as the bartender. 

“I’m not that interesting,” Brock frowned in confusion. 

“I disagree.” 

Brock scoffed out a laugh. “Sure thing, pal. You’re telling me that you’re really interested in _me_ while you’re looking like _that_ ?” 

Jack’s beauty was a hunting tool and nothing more. Brock’s beauty was organic. They were on vastly different planes and Brock had no idea just how remarkable he was. “I am.” 

“You’re crazy.” 

Jack certainly was. “Maybe. Tell me what you did today.” 

Brock gave him a funny look but obediently walked him through his morning work out and lunch with his gym buddy Grant. Jack listened, fascinated. It had been so long since he’d been a human and when he was it hadn’t been in this era. The longer he went on the hazier those memories got and these days they were brief recollections of special events such as a Christmas with his parents though their faces had long since blurred. Jack was consumed by it though, he hung onto each detail as he tried to imagine Brock in the sun. He wondered if his chestnut hair had hidden hues that only the sun could show. Jack would never know and he regretted that. 

As expected Brock turned the question towards Jack. He openly shared that he had spent most of it reading and listening to Haydn. Brock didn’t pretend to know who that was and Jack gave a brief explanation that he was an Austrian composure. Brock listened, proving to be more than the gym rat that his physique may make him appear as. Jack should have known better. Brock had more depth than any human he’d encountered. There was so much more to the man than what met the eyes and Jack wanted — no, _needed_ — to learn it all before… His stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought of what he would eventually have to do. 

“Don’t you want some too?” Brock inquired, nudging the basket towards him. 

“No thank you.” 

Brock frowned at him and Jack, spurred by pleasing him, took a fry and took a bite. It’s texture was foreign and displeasing but he swallowed it down knowing he’d have to cough it up later. It pleased Brock however so that was worth it. “Don’t you want a beer?” he asked next. 

That was where Jack had to draw the line and he shook his head, distracting Brock into telling him more about the gym. Brock took the bait and carried on about the new equipment they had just gotten in. He was mostly excited about a rowing machine and Jack found he liked to hear the excitement in his voice. It was a pitch higher than his usual tone, musical to Jack’s ears. He could hear him talk for hours just to track it’s pitches. Just to hear his passion was a treat that Jack had never experienced and nothing to compare it to. 

He was traversing new territory here with Brock and there were no absolutes anymore. He _cared_ for him. He’d never felt this way towards anyone, much less a human. The love he had for his friends was different. This feeling was throwing him off kilter. How could kill someone he cared about? The hours passed them by and Jack hardly noticed. The crowd thickened as it got later and thinned as it reached closing time. The fries were only half depleted and cold by the time the bartender told them they were closing. Brock and Jack spilled out onto the street and Brock hesitated in front of him, teeth worrying his bottom lip, a question clearly on his mind that he wasn’t certain he could ask. 

“What are you thinking?” Jack couldn’t help but ask. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

It was such an innocent request. An impossible, innocent request that hurt Jack to refuse. He did so as gently as he could, a subtle shaking of his head. A broken looked overcame his face that Brock quickly tried to mask with a joking, “Had to give it a shot, huh? I should get going -- ”

“I wish I could kiss you,” Jack found himself saying, a stupid, stupid move that begged questions he couldn’t answer. 

“Well why can’t you?” 

“It’s complicated.” was the best Jack could come up with. 

Brock looked at him like he was the anomaly in the equation and maybe, to Brock, he was. There was a lot Jack wanted to do. He wanted to touch Brock, feeling his skin under his touch. Soft and warm and _alive._ Everything that Jack wasn’t. His skin was harder than granite, cold as ice and so very dead. He couldn’t touch Brock because Brock would feel his touch and Brock didn’t deserve that. 

“Okay…” Brock shuffled his feet and then looked up at him boldly. “Am I going to see you again?” 

_No,_ Jack thought. _Say no._ “Would you like to see me again?” 

Brock stared at him as he had spoken a different language. “Of course.” he uttered when Jack didn’t react. “Maybe we can get dinner?” 

How Jack wished dates didn’t revolve around the consummation of food. “If you’d like to.” 

Brock frowned and Jack revised his reply to, “I would like to take you to dinner.” 

The frown lessened but the corner of his lips were still tight and his eyes clouded with unease. Jack wished he would decide he wasn’t worth the trouble, that he was rude to have refused his polite advances and cast him to the side. Brock did none of those things, he smiled earnestly at him. “Can I give you my number?” 

Jack slipped the smartphone he rarely used from his pocket. He had an unopened message from Steve asking where he had run off to. Chances were he was home alone and bored. Jack felt a bit bad about that but Brock took priority. He passed it to Brock who entered his information looking pleased. Jack entered his own, well aware he was creating a trail that would lead right back to him. But he was powerless to stop it, something else had taken control of him. Jack blinked when Brock looked at him, the last time he’d done so was almost ten minutes ago. Brock didn’t seem to notice, looking at him in the same awe he always had. Jack wondered when he’d get used to him. Get past the physical perfection and see the imperfections within. To see the cold blooded killer inside. But his outer shell was too strong, his allures too strong for a human. 

“I’ll text you,” Brock bid, taking a step backwards. 

He never took his eyes off Jack and Jack never took his eyes off Brock. He could feel something between them, something palpable and alive. It spelled disaster but Jack was ready to resign to his fate. “I look forward to it,” Jack said in return. 

He inhaled deeply before Brock was too far away. The thirst burned as his blood sang to him. Brock half turned away before he twisted around to look at him once more, as if to verify he was still there. When they locked eyes he smiled and turned away. This time he didn’t turn back. Jack didn’t breathe on the walk to the ferry, he let the thirst blaze away as his head swam with the heady scent. His venom glands were kicked into overdrive and he swallowed it heightening the burn but he dealt with. It wasn’t a martyrs sacrifice, it was greed. It was indulgence on something he was denying himself. Like some middle aged woman on a diet in the middle of a confectionary store. No, it was more than. But when he was with Brock it was easy to put aside, his years of control lending themselves in his favor. But when he let himself burn over it, it was all consuming. He adjusted his weight realizing he’d been too still. No one had really noticed, save for the ticket teller who looked at him with starry eyes, unaware she was looking one of the most dangerous creatures in the city. Jack blinked and the contacts dissolved. 

Jack pulled out his phone and stared at his sparse contacts. He pressed Brock’s and looked at his number. He wanted to send a message but he didn’t want to encourage the attachment forming between them. It was hard to remember how dangerous of a game he was playing when he was in Brock’s presence, when his attention was focused solely on Brock Rumlow and the rest was meaningless background noise. 

There was no future for them. It would come to a point where refusing physical contact would become an issue, or at least a curiosity, and once Brock started to look too closely at him all the holes would show and Jack would be stuck taking care of him anyway. In the long run he was causing them both pain. He could imagine the horror, the betrayal on his face when Jack grabbed him with a cold hand, holding him still superhuman strength, venom coated razor sharp teeth bared and opened, going for his throat… _ No! _ No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Of course there was one more option but Jack shuddered at the mere idea. Never would he curse anyone to a future of forever, of living in the darkness, sleepless, unaging, cold, hard, and _dead._ He cared for Brock too much for that. And that care was going to be undoing. 

So Jack had no options. He was helpless and it wasn’t a feeling he was used to. 

The ferry docked and he dragged his feet going home, trying to wash Brock’s scent from him. By the time he arrived at the brownstone he was certain that unless Natasha was really looking for it she wouldn’t find anything. He let himself in and was met with a quiet house. Steve appeared in the doorway. His transformation had been the most dramatic that Jack had seen. Bucky had changed when he was on the cusp of death after being robbed when they were in Brooklyn back in the 40s. He’d been small and sickly but after he emerged, a newborn, he had an impressive stature and defined muscle, blond with dark eyes. His weak body had been torn apart and remade into undead perfection. Jack wondered if Steve resented Bucky on some level for convicting him to forever. He’d watched his family die from a distance but Jack wasn’t around enough to have seen his reaction to it. He was more independent back then, a different city every night. It was before they had formed a formal coven that was recognized by their fellows. 

“Hey, where were you?” He asked. 

“Just out and about. No shift at the clinic?” 

Steve had his nursing license, something that was forged everytime they moved. His mother had been a nurse and it was his homage to her. “No, I’m on call. I got called in last night.” 

“You look thirsty.” 

“I am,” Steve sighed wistfully. “Tomorrow night I’ll go out.” 

“You need to take care of yourself.” Steve was virtuous to a fault; he would give and give until he had nothing left for himself. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “You sound like Bucky.” 

“Maybe Bucky has a point.” 

“Mmhm -- hey, Clint said you found someone whose blood sang to you?” 

Brock was the last thing he wanted to talk about but if he was too brief he knew that Steve would notice something was off. He was perceptive and read him almost as well as Natasha did. He was grateful he hadn’t run into her yet. 

“Yeah, it was an experience.” That wasn’t a lie, Brock _was_ an experience. One that he couldn’t wait to have again. He wanted Brock to text him desperately. 

“Sounds it. I don’t know if I’d want an experience like that or not.” Steve was a friendly guy but he could talk a lot. Jack wanted to go up to his room where he could think about Brock in private. “Sounds...intense.” 

“It is.” 

Steve talked with him for a bit, telling him about a patient who had come in who’d been in a knife fight and had his femoral artery slices and the blood had saturated the gurney pad and it had been the closest Steve had ever gotten to losing control. Jack extended his sympathy to that, he knew that control was a slippery thing to have. It was easily lost and in its wake it left death and destruction. Bucky returned and Jack was released to go upstairs and wallow in indecision. Who said he would hunt him down? He could cut ties and use the care he had for him to stay away from him. But it was a feeble thought and one dashed quickly. Losing all contact with Brock felt as impossible as killing him. Jack realized then that he more than cared about Brock. 

_He loved him._

And that was dangerous. Jack could never truly be with him. It was impossible. Or was it? No, he was foolish. He couldn’t risk Brock’s life like that. As Steve had mentioned control could slip so easily. Even with his years of experience all it could take was one lapse. And his death would not only tear Jack apart but endanger them all. Jack was playing a very tricky game of chance and he wasn’t certain of his next move. His phone vibrated and in less than a second Jack had it out. It took a few seconds for the message to load and that was damn near torturous for Jack. 

Brock: Is this Jack? 

Jack uttered a laugh, defeated, charmed and exasperated all at once. He typed back his response. 

Jack: Yes Brock. 

A beat and the phone trembled in his hands. 

Brock: Just wanted to know if you gave me a fake number or something. 

Jack: Why would I do that?

There was a few seconds between the response and Jack fretted. Finally a new message appeared beneath his. 

Brock: Sometimes people do that, you know. 

Jack didn’t know. There was a lot he didn’t know about the intricacies of being human. He knew enough to blend in public, but in private he was going off memories he could barely recall from a life before an eternity. They were outdated and he knew that. His fingers hovered over the screen. He could type out _I’m not interested_ and maybe Brock would turn him away. But that would cause him pain and Jack couldn’t bring himself to hurt him, even if it could save his life in the long run. Jack was weak and that disgusted him. 

Jack: I wouldn’t ever do that to you.

The phone vibrated again. 

Brock: Thanks :)

Jack checked the time and clicked his tongue. It was pushing three am. 

Jack: You should be asleep.

Brock: What are you my dad? You should be asleep too.

Jack smiled dryly. If only he could. 

Jack: I’m not tired.

A truth amongst lies. It was refreshing. Enticing. Jack could spill it all out over text messages and Brock would think he was crazy. It was too soon for him to start threading together the inconsistencies. He could drive Brock away for his own safety. It would hurt Jack, it would carve him to the bone, but it would keep Brock safe. He still had his scent in his chest and he finally released it, stomach weighed down with regret. As attractive as the idea was he too weak willed to do so. 

Brock: That makes two of us. What are you doing? 

Jack: Talking to you.

Brock: I mean besides that lol. 

Jack: Nothing.

Brock: Same. I had a good time tonight. Sorry about the kiss thing. I didn’t mean to move so fast or make things weird. 

A frown pulled at the corners of Jack’s lips. Brock would never know how badly he wanted to kiss him in that moment but Jack knew that his cold hard lips didn’t belong on Brock’s warm soft ones. He wanted to explain that he hadn’t made anything ‘weird’ or moved too fast. Perhaps he could feel the draw between them as a human. Jack often wished he was human, especially when he was facing endless droll sunny days cooped up inside, but never had wished for it the way he did in that moment. To exist as Brock’s equal, to take him to dinner and find sustenance in food rather than blood, to drink beers at a bar, to kiss and touch and _exist freely._ But wants and wishes were feeble when Jack faced the future of forever. But the idea of committing Brock to a similar fate wasn’t an option. 

Jack: You didn’t make anything weird. 

He didn’t offer a counter experience or give a reason for his refusal. He wondered if it bothered Brock, if he was sitting in his sparsely furnished apartment and thinking about how Jack had avoided the questions, blaming himself for making a very human move — a move that any human would have reciprocated without any hesitation. A move that Jack had wanted to give himself into but had to abstain from for both of their safety even if said safety was temporary. 

Brock: So did you want to schedule dinner? 

Jack: How about tomorrow? You can pick the place.

Jack would get a plate and eat the bare minimum, pick it apart with a fork to make it look like he’d consumed more than he would. Hopefully he would keep Brock so busy talking he wouldn’t notice. Brock selected an Italian restaurant — a nod towards his heritage, as Brock had told him over beers tonight and Jack had agreed readily. He was greedy when it came to Brock. It was greed that spelled disaster but he was powerless against it. Against his best judgement Brock had somehow become his center point of gravity in two short days. Unheard of, outwardly impossible, but here he was caught in the thralls of love with a _human._ Brock was going to be the death of him, of that Jack could bank on. 


	3. Chapter 3

Jack was fitting in his contacts when Natasha appeared in the doorway of his bathroom. Jack looked at her in the mirror with an eye roll. “Ever heard of knocking?” 

“Where have you been running off to every night?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Steve said you weren’t back until almost dawn.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You didn’t kill the human did you.” 

Jack knew he should have expected this run in but he hadn’t expected it quite so soon and he was still left feeling underprepared. “Natasha -- ”

“I was more than clear.” The redhead bristled and the threat rang in Jack’s mind as he turned around, one contact turning his eye green the other red. 

“You don’t control me.” 

“You’re risking all of us,” she snarled. “You’re risking Clint. I refuse to allow this to continue. If you can’t take care of it, I’ll handle it myself.” 

Jack bore his teeth and hissed. Natasha dropped down a crouch and so did Jack. Clint was at her side immediately, Bucky and Steve crowding behind him as Jack faced off against two members of his coven. Two days ago something of this magnitude wouldn’t have happened but this was the effect Brock had his life. Wonderful and disastrous, this was the result of their fledgling relationship. Steve, as per his usual, went into deescalation mode before anyone attacked.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He said, hands moving in a calm down motion. “You didn’t kill the human? But you said — ”

“He lied,” Natasha spit. “He’s a risk to us all now.”

Steve’s eyebrows drew together to a knot of disappointment. “You lied to me about killing the human?”

“I can’t kill him.” Jack lost his will to fight and straightened up. This move seemed to startle Natasha out of fight mode as well; Clint still looked ready to tussle. “I care about him.”

“You _ care about him _ ,” Clint snorted. “That’s rich. He’s a human. You said yourself that his blood smells better than you’ve ever experienced.”

“It does.”

“And you won’t feed?”

“I can’t.” 

Jack had tried, he’d gone to that apartment last night with genuine intentions of ending the human’s life but he hadn’t been able to go through with it. Jack couldn’t bear the thought of him dead. 

“Then I will.” Natasha said simply. 

Jack hissed and had her against the wall, forearm to her throat. Clint grabbed his shoulder and threw him back. The drywall crumbled and he ended up sprawled in his room. He was on his feet immediately launching towards Clint. Bucky and Steve grabbed his arms, holding him back while he fought against him furiously. 

“You touch him and I’ll kill you.” Jack snarled.

Natasha was cool, calculating, unmoved. Clint was crouched in front of her like a loyal attack dog. “Do you intend to turn him?” She asked curiously, like it had just occurred to her; as though nothing had happened previously.

The sheer mention had Jack distraught. “No, no I can’t do that to him.”

“Either way his heart must stop beating and you know that. Maybe you can resist your thirst for you now but not forever. Whether you care for him or not, he’ll die. Why delay the inevitable?”

“I’ll die before I let any harm befall him.” Jack swore viciously. He pulled free of his restraints, Bucky and Steve seemingly assured another fight wouldn’t break out. “And I’ll kill you before you before I allow you to hurt him.”

“Why are you so opposed to turning him? That would solve all our problems and keep your human safe.”

“He wouldn’t be my _human_ anymore, would he?” Jack asked dryly. 

Natasha tapped Clint and he rose. Natasha rested her chin on his shoulder and looked at him with curiosity. “Is this human that important to you?”

“Yes.” Jack confessed. 

She hummed and trailed her fingers through Clint’s hair. “That doesn’t address our problem. You are fraternizing with a human, going out little dates. When he eventually vanishes, where do you think they’ll look first? And then where do you think the Volturi will look? It’s more than you and your human in danger, Jack. It’s all of us; your friends…your _family._ ” Her gaze was penetrating and Jack wished he could shield himself from it. “Is one life worth more than four to you?”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” 

Jack couldn’t answer the question because he didn’t like the answer. _No._ When it came down to the wire he’d protect his friends first, they had history together, decades grouped as a coven. But the idea of hurting Brock hurt him worse than thirst ever could. Worse than he’d ever hurt before. 

“You have two options,” Natasha said calmly. “Kill him or turn him.”

There had been a third. A way that Brock could remain as he was, warm, soft and human and their secret continue to be safe. If Jack could keep him discovering what he was there was no danger — not until his control slipped and it was too late to fix it. Maybe there were only two options. 

“Come on,” Natasha stepped around Clint and tugged at his hand. “Let’s go for a run in the park.”

Clint cast a final piercing glare towards Jack before he trailed along behind her. Steve and Bucky gave him a tight lipped smile, sealing their opinions behind forced friendliness but Jack didn’t have any trouble guessing what they felt. Bucky was just as protective over Steve as Natasha was over Clint though he was less volatile and confrontational. 

Jack blinked a few times to dissolve the contact and checked the time. He was running late. He dusted the plaster off his shoulders and put in contacts. No one stopped him as he walked out the door. The trip on the ferry felt too long and Jack texted Brock to let him know he may be late. It felt rude — it _was_ rude — but Jack hadn’t accounted for being cornered the way he was. He knew what he was doing was risky and wrong and that he’s risking it all for Brock but it felt worth it. Jack knew that it was wildly unfair for his friends, that he had no right to put them in harm's way, but they weren’t. Not yet at least. And until the possibility became a probability Jack was going to indulge in Brock as much as he could. 

The restaurant had mood lighting which Jack was grateful for. He didn’t think Brock had noticed how frightfully pale he was yet, always seeing him in the evening. The longer he could stave that off the better — though if he noticed and fled that would be good too. It would make the eventual hunt easier. At least that’s what he told himself. Brock had arrived before him and the hostess, after a moment of hesitation where her heart took off pounding, led him to the table. She was noticeably crestfallen when she put together that this was a date and she left with a sad smile to return to her podium up front. 

Brock was fiddling with his fingers and his heart raced as he laid eyes on him. Jack liked his heartbeat, he liked how alive he sounded. Brock made a move to stand and Jack stopped him with a hand up and sunk down. A candle was lit between them and flame danced in Brock’s eyes. Jack inhaled his scent and said, “I’m so sorry I was late.” 

“It’s okay, it happens. What happened? If-if you don’t mind asking, that is. Sorry, I don’t mean to be nosey.” 

“You’re not nosey. It’s a fair question. I got into a fight with my roommates.” 

Oh how easily the half truths flowed around Brock. It was frightening and exhilarating all at once. Jack wondered what he’d do if he spilled it all to him, told him the fight had been about his death and when it should come — now or later? His stomach clenched up, the idea of his death still as upsetting as it had been before the brawl at the house. He would die first, would die _when_ because as much as Jack hated to admit it it was a when. There was only so long he could keep up his charade. Once his interest started to wane all that would be left would be the thirst. But now Jack had entangled his life with Brock’s, been formally entered into his phone. A trail that would lead to his demise. And the others if he wasn’t careful. Jack was in trouble but he didn’t regret it. Not in the slightest. 

“Was it serious?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“We’ll sort it out eventually.” Jack said. 

“Well… I got a call about an interview.” Brock said excitedly. “It’s not much, a minimum wage data entry place, nine to five, all that but it’s something, right?” 

“I thought you wanted to be a personal trainer?” 

_Brock follow your dreams while you still can._ Brock waved his hand as if brushing away the idea. “That would involve me going back to school and me and school don’t really mesh. Besides, nine to five is stable, you know? I could do with some stability. No more ‘gotta sell a car so I can eat’.” 

Speaking of eat Jack wondered where their server was. “I’m happy for you.” 

Jack was happy because he was happy that Brock was happy. Perhaps it was for the best that he did not enroll in school. A missing employee that had just started wouldn’t raise the same red flags as a missing student. Jack loathed himself in that moment; how could he think something like that while he was in the presence of Brock? Brock flushed, sweet blood flushing his face. 

“Thanks. I know it’s not a big deal but…”

“It sounds like a big deal to me.” 

Brock's hand was resting on the table and Jack ached to touch it. He wanted to feel it, warm and fragile. But he didn’t dare, didn’t want to subject his warm flesh to his cold, hard, inhuman touch. It didn’t take away the urge though. It remained constant and more distracting than the burn in his throat was. The server finally appeared, clearly overwhelmed by an unusual onslaught of business but he was immediately distracted by Jack. It was beyond him how they could stare at him when Brock sat directly across him, bounds more incredible than he was. 

“Hey-hi,” he stammered. “I’m James, I’ll be your server. Can I start you two out with drinks?” 

Jack looked at Brock. “Oh, uh, a Coke please.” 

“We have Pepsi.” 

James was so dismissive of him. Jack wanted to demand he show Brock the highest of respect but he couldn’t draw eyes. So he sat stiffly and thought about ripping out his throat. It soothed him considerably and the tension melted from his body, cradled by visions of blood shed for the noble cause of Brock. It would be blood well spilled of course. 

“That’ll be fine.” 

James turned to Jack, noticeably more excited. “You?” 

“Same.” 

James wrote it down and promised to get it to them right away. Jack didn’t doubt that though he did pity the rest of his tables. He hoped he wouldn’t be too distracting this evening. Each night with Brock could very well be the last and he needed to make the most of it. James was prompt, their drinks and straws set on the table. He asked about ordering and Jack realized he’d completely forgotten to look at the menus. 

“We haven’t gotten a chance to look yet.” 

“I’ll come back,” he said eagerly and cast a side look at Brock before he bustled off to tend to his other tables. 

“He can’t believe you’re here with me,” Brock said with a trace of humor in his voice. “Guess that makes two of us.” 

“I told you, you interest me.” 

“I don’t know _why_ ,” Brock said, bewildered. “I mean I’m just about as boring as they come. And a bit pathetic too with my lack of a job.” 

“I don’t have a job,” Jack reminded him. Brock flushed and Jack wanted to laugh at his very human reaction. They were always so afraid to offend. “It’s okay.” 

“No it’s not, that was a stupid thing to say.” Brock looked frustrated with himself and Jack wanted to smooth the expression for his face, especially when he frowned. Jack wished he’d hadn’t said anything. “I just mean the getting fired thing.” 

“She had no right to put you in that position.” 

“Yeah well,” Brock shrugged helplessly. “If she hadn’t I wouldn’t have met you so… So I’d say it was worth it.” 

Jack wanted to correct him. He wanted to tell him that meeting Jack was the absolute worst thing that could ever happen to Brock. Instead he pressed his lips together and smiled. Brock’s pulse rabbited and the human reaction reminded him to have one of his own as he blinked. But Jack too was happy to have met Brock, he had changed Jack’s life in a few short hours. 

“Meeting you changed everything,” Jack said earnestly. He didn’t stop thinking about the intensity of that, perhaps internally hoping to drive Brock away by overwhelming him. 

Brock didn’t spook, but he blushed. That blush was one of the many reasons he could never turn Brock. He wouldn’t strip him of the privilege of humanity, wouldn’t condemn him to a life hiding from the sun. Brock deserved so much more than that. He deserved better than Jack, but he’d gotten tangled up in a web of fate that would lead to his death eventually. Whether it was now or later. Brock busied himself unwrapping his straw and putting into the Pepsi. Jack copied the motion. He had resigned himself to eating and drinking a bit tonight, however unpleasant it was. He would blend and suffer for the sake of Brock. There was little he wouldn’t do for Brock, Jack found. 

They picked up the menus and Jack made his choice quickly. Panzenella, it wouldn’t weigh him down too much. Brock made his own selection and folded the menu setting it back into holder. Brock molded his lips around the straw and Jack wondered what they would feel like against his own. A fantasy that would never come to fruition because it would accelerate things. Jack copied the motion and the carbonation seemed to scald his mouth in a way that thirst never could. He schooled his expression and swallowed it. He set aside the cup and turned his attention to Brock before James returned. 

“What did you do today?” 

Jack would never stop being fascinated by the simplicity of human life. To be active during the day, not to shy from the sun. That was where Brock belonged after all, in the daylight hours under the warm sun. It was why he couldn’t resign him to the same fate as the rest of them. It was why Brock remaining human was so important. Brock had gone to the gym early and stayed until mid-afternoon when he got the call about the interview which was scheduled for tomorrow morning. He had rewarded himself with a cup of coffee and a scone from the ‘fancy coffee shop’. He’d eaten it at an outside table. 

“I thought about texting you but… I didn’t want to bug you.” Brock took another drink of his Pepsi. “How about you?” 

Jack wished he an answer as good as Brock’s. He was human and could drone on about his job and about the little treats such as coffee and a scone. Jack couldn’t remember the taste of coffee and though the smell of it was now incredibly off-putting he knew that at one point, back in human days, he had enjoyed it immensely. “Mostly reading. Some tidying.” 

There was very little tidying. Vampires kept a very clean house. Some sweeping from dirt brought in, soaking laundry that may have gotten a drop or two of blood on it. “What are you reading?” 

“The Known World.” He had read it several times but he kept coming back to it. Spurred by the line of questioning he asked, “What’s your favorite book?” 

“I’m not much of a reader,” Brock said immediately. 

“Everyone has a favorite book,” Jack prodded. 

“Uh… I guess if I _had_ to pick something I’d say… The Lottery. I read it in highschool.” 

Morbid but curious. Jack was further enamored by the strange human before. “It’s an interesting story.” 

“I thought so. I liked the twist at the end.” 

“The ending was unexpected,” Jack agreed. “What’s your favorite food?” 

“Eggplant parmesan — what I’m ordering tonight.” Brock said, querking a smile. “You?” 

Jack smiled at the irony of the question. _You_ , he thought. _You would be the best thing I’ve ever had._ “I can’t pick.” 

Brock hummed and took another sip. Jack seized the silence and asked, “Favorite color?” 

“Gray.” 

Gray? It was such a drab color, unfitting for Brock’s bright personality. Perhaps his bemusement was obvious because Brock smiled and said, “It’s a nice color to me. Not too vibrant, not too dark. Right in the middle.” 

Of course when Brock explained it that it was Jack who had trouble seeing him liking anything else. How easy it was for Brock to surprise him in a way no human ever had. James reappeared, pen poised and ready. He took their orders, lingering a moment to ask if there was anything else he could do, eyes on Jack. After assuring him there was nothing, an edge to his voice, the server seemed to get the hint and went a bit pale, excusing himself. He turned his attention back to Brock who was frowning at him. 

“What?” 

“People can’t help but stare, you know. It’s not every day you meet someone who looks like you… Sometimes I can’t help but stare.” 

It was the staring that bothered him, it was the interruption. “I prefer to be alone with you,” Jack said before he could consider the diplomacy of his words. 

Brock flushed and looked down at the table. “I still can’t for the life of me understand why. I’m not nearly as interesting as you seem to think I am.” 

“I disagree.” 

“Of course you do. What about you, what’s your favorite color?” 

_Red_ , he thought at first but he paused and tried to remember when his life didn’t center around blood. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. Red was always most pleasing to his eye. It wasn’t an usual answer, was it? “I suppose…red.” 

“Why red?” he asked, just as Jack had asked why gray. He needed to get used to questions being turned back onto him. 

“It’s warm.” That was true. Blood was warm. “It’s… It’s appealed to me all my life.” 

All of his second life, that was. All this endless life. Brock smiled. “Red is a good color,” he agreed. “It’s actually my second favorite color.”

Their dishes came and they talked between bites. Brock told him about growing up in Brooklyn and Jack lied about growing up in Detroit. It was the last place they had been so it was easy to come up with names and places. “You know you never told me your last name.” Brock said suddenly. 

He hadn’t. He remembered everything, every second of every day with perfect clarity and in their introductions Brock has shared his last name and Jack hadn’t. At the time Brock wasn’t Brock though, he was _prey_ and he didn’t owe prey his last name. But Brock… He owed Brock that and so much more. 

“Rollins. I’m Jack Rollins.” 

“Rollins,” Brock tested. “I like that.” 

“Thank you,” Jack said. “I like Rumlow more personally.” 

Brock laughed. “Rumlow is easier to make fun of,” Brock replied. “In school they used to call me dumblow.” 

Jack never felt bloodlust toward children but anyone who had hurt Brock was deserving of his wrath. His body tightened in defense. “Children can be cruel,” he forced himself to say. 

“Oh don’t worry I kicked asses until it stopped,” Brock smiled, triumphant, proud he had defended himself. 

It made Jack smile, Brock was no damsel among his fellow humans. Of course that didn’t absolve Jack from his need to personally guarantee that safety. Humans unpredictable was predictable. Some of them wished to do others harm and Jack couldn't allow such things to happen to Brock. 

“Why am I not surprised?” 

Brock grinned before forking another piece of eggplant. He eventually noticed Jack’s lack of progress on his dinner and questioned it. “I had a big lunch,” he lied voice tainted with regret. “It’s good though.” 

Brock didn’t press it and the rest of their meal commenced without too many interruptions from James. Jack was on his best behavior during his visits, Brock’s reaction to his cold reception fresh in his mind. James didn’t linger the way he had, Jack having successfully chased him off by showing him a hint of his true nature. He wondered if Brock would run away if directed such things at him. He didn’t want to try, couldn’t bring himself to even entertain the idea for longer than a moment. Jack declined a box and paid despite Brock’s protests (“You don’t have a job, remember? You should be saving your money for shit like rent.”) and the two of them stepped onto the street. It was just after seven, the sidewalks full of those getting off of work. Brock paused as he had in front of the bar, the invitation there and oh so enticing. 

“I had fun,” he finally said. 

“As did I.” 

He took a step forward. Jack knew should take a step back. He knew it but he didn’t. Brock’s honey were glued to his, their eye contact deliberate and more intense than Jack had ever experienced. The incandescence between was world stopping and in those moments everything felt mute and distant. It was just Brock and Jack in a world of all their own. Jack ached for him, wanted to feel his soft skin, felt powerless _not_ to. He reached out, fingers trailing the space around his jawbone feeling the warmth radiating off his skin against his fingers. Brock tilted his head towards the ghosting touch, wanting to make the contact and Jack pulled his hand back quickly — far too quickly because Brock blinked in surprise. There was a broken look entering his eyes melding with confusion. Jack understood that confusion and hated himself for putting them in that position to begin with. He took a step backwards, putting space between them. Words failed him as he wallowed in the shame of his lapse of judgement. 

“Am… Am I doing something wrong?” he finally asked, voice just barely above a whisper. 

Jack shook his head immediately. “No. It’s…” 

“Complicated?” 

Jack was impressed he’d remembered his words. Human memories were so weak. “Yes.” 

Brock smiled bitterly and ran his fingers through his hair. “Well will I see you again?” 

“Yes,” Jack said immediately followed quickly by, “Let me walk you home.” 

He knew he was sending mixed signals, that it must have been driving Brock crazy to try and understand his actions. But Jack felt powerless to stop it, to leave Brock alone. “Sure.”

The walk was slow, as human movement was, but Jack didn’t mind it. Most of it was done in silence, Brock’s eyebrows knit together as he undoubtedly tried to make sense of the scene in front of the restaurant. Jack so badly wanted to take that worry away, to have an answer better than ‘it’s complicated’ to help Brock understand. It had been three days and Jack had no better grasp on things than he had when he first realized that he cared for this human. They made it to the front of the apartment and there was another moment of hesitation. Jack didn’t allow this one to linger long enough for Brock to make any more bold moves. 

“I’ll text you.” 

Brock smiled through the look in his eyes was that of clear disappointment. Jack knew enough about society standards to know that he should have kissed Brock. And he wanted to but he couldn’t. And he’d never be able to. “Okay… Have a good night Jack.” 

“And you as well, Brock.” 

Jack inhaled his scent to carry with him across the ferry and hung around until he could Brock’s feet in his apartment. He wasn’t sure what awaited him at home, perhaps Natasha and Clint had grown tired of running around Seaside and were waiting for another ambush. He knew he was saturated in Brock’s scent but he couldn’t bring himself to care. To them the answer was so simple, as if they too didn’t wish they were humans again. Jack couldn’t take away Brock’s humanity and banish him to an eternity in the dark. He could hear Steve and Bucky fucking from the street and ended up taking another stroll around the block. He went to Cloves Lake and sat on a bench. He could hear the heartbeat of slumbering ducks in the reeds of the park and the cacophony of insects as he finally released Brock’s scent. He did so with a heavy heart but he needed a break from the searing burn of thirst. He had self-control that rivaled even the best of their kind but doubted his ability to withstand being around Brock too long without bloodlust taking over. His mind drifted to his body sprawled on his bed and a new kind of lust struck him. 

It had been almost fifty years since he last had another vampire in his bed, a flighty female who made herself scarce shortly afterward. Jack hadn’t felt drawn to a human in that way, what with all their imperfections and nature. But Brock was an anomaly. How long could he keep up this charade? Keep Brock willing to tolerate his presence when all he did was take and take, giving nothing in return. Not even a touch to confirm the way he felt. If only he wasn’t so cold and hard, if only he was human. 

Natasha sat down beside him, her guard dog nowhere in sight. Good, Jack was still miffed about the wall he’d have to repair once it was safe to return home. “I saw you with him.” 

Jack whipped his head around, teeth bared as panic mounted. Clint could be at his apartment — 

“I forbid Clint from going anywhere near him,” Natasha said and Jack was taken aback. “You really love him, don’t you?” 

“Yes.” Jack confessed in a broken voice. 

He felt broken, fragmented, only part of what he once had been. He’d left a portion of himself with Brock. He was a part of him now. His unbeating heart sought him and him alone. “You know he’ll die,” she reminded him again, as if he didn’t know. “You could stop that.” 

“By killing him?” 

“He’d live forever for you.” 

“He’d hate me forever.” 

“Who says you get to make that executive choice? Bonds like this are rare and go deeper than you’d think. When I met Clint I knew immediately that I loved him. I exposed myself to him and he didn’t hesitate to ask me to change him. He felt the same way and I’m willing to bet that Brock will have a similar reaction.” 

“I know he will and that’s why I won’t give him the option. If you could be human again, wouldn’t you? To have blood in your veins again, to be able to step into the sun.” 

“I don’t entertain impossibilities,” Natasha said tersely, a glaringly obvious _yes_ . 

“I can’t take his life that way.” 

“Then you’ll take it in a way that will tear you apart and risk us all.” Her tone turned firm. “I can’t promise you his safety forever. Bucky’s furious and Steve is trying to pacify him. You need a game plan you can present. If you love him, truly love him, you’ll do anything to keep him at your side. Even if it hurts at first.” 

She stood and offered her hand. Jack looked at it with uncertainty before he took it. They walked home, taking advantage of the empty street to move at a speed much faster than a human. They arrived and, thankfully, Steve seemed to have finished _pacifying_ Bucky for now. Jack was still wary as he entered well aware that his presence was unwelcome. No one came to meet him but he was surprised to smell mudding and drywall. 

“Clint made the mess, he can clean it up,” Natasha said in answer of his unspoken question. “It’ll probably be best if you stayed downstairs. He’s not too happy about what happened earlier.” 

Guilt squirmed in his guts and he offered a humble apology. “I’m sorry, Nat but I couldn’t let you hurt Brock.” 

“I see that now. Imagine the chances that the sweetest blood you’ve found is the one you love most?” 

“One of the anomalies of life, I suppose.” How much easier it would be if Brock hadn’t been so compelling and Jack had drained him. But that wasn’t how it played out. 

“You almost touched him.” 

Jack was startled. He’d been so consumed by Brock he hadn’t even noticed her presence. Too busy inhaling Brock’s scent to notice Natasha’s. “I know,” he lowered his voice in shame. 

“It was hard to resist Clint at first too. Everything he did was so inviting. I was afraid to scare him away.” 

Jack laughed without a trace of mirth. “I keep thinking I should scare him off — for his sake and ours — but I just _can’t._ I’m weak around him. He makes me feel…” 

“Human.” Natasha supplied.

That was the name for it, wasn’t it. All his trepidation and uncertainty were very human emotions. Before Brock he was always certain of his motives and his actions. Around Brock he could hardly control what came out of his mouth. He deflated, leaning back against the couch. If he could feel tired, he definitely would be in that moment. “Yes. Human.” 

“That’s how Clint made me feel. In my experience these things are never once sided.” 

“In your experience?” 

“Mmhm.” 

She was older than him, far more experienced than Jack was. Her age she’d never share deflecting with “a lady never tells”. He didn’t bother trying to weasel for that information now but he trusted her. Brock seemed as enamored by him as Jack was by Brock and that was a good indication. But that didn’t make the idea of taking away his warmth any easier to swallow. 

“I just wish he could stay human. Did you feel that way towards Clint?” 

Natasha sniffed. “I suppose I’m more selfish than you. Mortals have such short lives, I couldn’t imagine my life without him. I needed him by my side forever.” 

The idea of enticing, attractive, but the means of gaining such a gift was ghastly. Robbing the breath from his lungs, the blood from his veins -- he couldn’t bear to imagine it. But it was an ugly truth he needed to face.

“Let me do it in my time.” Jack finally requested, utterly defeated by the future. 

“That I can do.” Natasha patted his knee. “I’m going to tell the others.” 

“Thanks.” 


	4. Chapter 4

During the day all Jack could think about was Brock. He tried to picture him as a vampire, cold, unyielding flesh, his perfect features accentuated to an eerie level of ethereal perfection. He thought about that blush, that beautiful color that spread through his cheeks vanishing forever. All because of Jack. It was a horrible turn of fate, an adversity of epic proportions. If only he hadn’t come with his friends to New York and gone out on his own as he did every once… Maybe then Brock would have been safe. He would have been free to live out his life free of him. Safe, unscathed, _human._ The sun filtered through the blackout curtains and Jack stared at the tiny dust particles suspended in the air. The sun was yet another thing he would be taking from Brock. How could he, in good conscience, do such a thing? He knew he wasn’t a soulless creature but he wasn’t unnecessarily cruel — at least he tried not to be. 

But there was no choice anymore; his thirst would overcome him even if Brock kept his secret and his death, by his hands, was intolerable. He wished with all his heart that things were different, that he’d never laid eyes on him, never gotten a whiff of his scent. But no amount of wishing and hoping would change the inevitable. But no one said he had to rush it. He’d made a promise to Natasha and he would go through with it — he had to — but in his own time. He waited by his phone like a hawk, eager for any and all contact with Brock. He didn’t have to wait long for Brock to message him. 

Brock: Hey

If Jack’s heart could beat it would have been racing by the sheer joy he felt. The smallest of interactions with Brock brought him such elation he couldn’t begin to understand it. He didn’t look too closely into it — he’d grown tired of overthinking his reactions for the moment. He just let himself feel in a way he hadn’t for a very, very long time. Maybe for the first time ever. 

Jack: Hello. How are you? 

They spoke most of the day, Brock’s time unemployed affording him more time to treat Jack with attention. He asked if Jack wanted to meet for coffee and Jack, with a heavy heart, declined and feigned having stuff to do, forcing him to stop texting to continue the ruse. He glared at the window, wishing it had been an overcast day so he could have walked the streets during the daylight hours without risking the sun bouncing off his skin. 

Would Brock miss afternoon coffee? Of course he would. He’d miss all the simplicity of being human that he and his friends missed…except for Clint who was still consumed by the novelty of being a vampire. He was only fifteen after all. Just a baby. A baby that Natasha had known she loved the first time she laid eyes on him quite the same way Jack had fallen for Brock. Jack knew that he’d never love again. What he felt for Brock was something that only came around once. But would Brock still love him after he discovered what a monster he was? When he realized how bleak his future was, cast to the shadows, cold and dead. 

His wall had been repaired but Clint was still not speaking to him. Jack didn’t mind, he wasn’t in the mood to have him gloat about winning the argument. Bucky wasn’t speaking to him either, reluctant to forgive what had been a violation of trust. Jack didn’t blame him but he hoped that he could understand where he was coming from. His urge to defend Steve, to ensure no harm came to him, was the same way he felt toward Brock. Brock… He wondered if he could text him yet. No, it was too soon. Jack sighed wistfully and glared at the sun. It was nice to direct his frustrations at something, however pointless it was. 

  * • •• •• ••



Brock suggested a bowling alley while they were eating pho two nights later. Jack had controlled himself quite well, not letting Brock get too close after dates. He walked him home and waited until he heard him in his apartment. It bothered Brock, Jack could see it in his eyes, but Jack was doing it for Brock. It made him feel righteous in some fucked up way, as if he wasn’t going to be the death of Brock eventually. There was only so long he could keep up the act. He feared that once Brock turned him away his interest in him would wane, his love would part for something darker and he would do something he’d regret deeply. 

“Bowling?” 

Jack stirred the noodles with his chopsticks. He ate very little on their dates and Brock seemed to have adjusted to it. “Sure.” 

Jack couldn’t remember the last time he stepped into a bowling alley — maybe the 80s? — and that made him laugh. Brock scowled at him and Jack grinned. The flash of his teeth had Brock drawing away a bit, that instinctive human reaction to danger kicking in. For a moment Jack thought Brock may see sense, recognize him as dangerous and draw away. Instead the tension in shoulders vanished and he said, “Bowling is _fun._ ” 

“If you say so.” Jack said teasingly. 

“So let's go bowling tomorrow afternoon.” 

Brock had been hellbent on afternoon dates and Jack had taken to checking the weather before their dates so he had an answer ready. It was supposed to be rainy — a perfect day to spend doing an indoor activity. “Yes, we can go bowling.” 

Brock’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Hey, this is the first time you’ve ever agreed to see me during the day. I was starting to think you were ashamed to be seen with me or something.” Brock’s tone was joking but his eyes held real vulnerability that Jack was urged to dash. 

“Of course not.” he said immediately, a bit too harshly because Brock’s brow furrowed. “I’d never be ashamed to be seen with you.” 

Despite initially being startled, the expression shifted smoothly to embarrassment. Jack never took Brock for the bashful type, even with his blushing, but it was nice to see. “So bowling then,” he finally said. “It’s a date?” 

“It’s a date.” 

At home Jack blinked through his contacts and was met by Natasha. “You’re going out with him during the day?” 

Jack grimaced. “You need to stop stalking me.” 

“Someone needs to be responsible,” she tutted. “It’s not stalking anyway, it’s babysitting.” 

_Babysitting._ Why did it relieve Jack a bit? It held him accountable during those moments when Jack so desperately wanted to touch Brock, feeling his supple flesh. 

“I’m careful,” Jack said, with a touch of hesitance because he was, wasn’t he? He wasn't taking unnecessary risks. “It’s going to be raining.” 

“I know.” 

“So there’s no risk there.” Jack went to the living room, pausing as he saw Clint was already there, sprawled over the armchair. The blond directed a glare at him. “Clint.” 

“Jack.” It was chipped. 

“Enough you two.” Natasha breezed behind Clint, carding her fingers through his hair. “Fighting among ourselves isn’t going to solve the issue of Jack’s human. He _loves him,_ Clint. The way that I loved you. He knows what he has to do.” 

“So do it.” Clint said angrily. “The longer you wait the higher risk of him finding out on his own and exposing us all. Because it’s not just about you and your feelings, Rollins.” 

“It’s not me I’m worried about, it’s Brock.” Jack bit back. “I’m not going to rush things.” 

Clint cried out in exasperation and Natasha hushed him. “It’s okay, darling.” she purred and Clint settled.  She directed a piercing look at Jack. “It’ll happen. Soon.” 

“Soon,” Jack agreed bitterly.

  * • •• •• ••



They went to Lucky Strike in Manhattan. Brock was wearing a black windbreaker with the hood up to protect his hair. Jack enjoyed the feeling of rain against his skin as they walked. Brock was hurrying as fast as human legs could carry him from where the cab dropped them off. Jack was shocked by the bowling alley he was presented with -- they had certainly changed since the 80s. There were twelve lanes, a billiard table, a full bar, DJ and flat screen TVs mounted on the wall. They went to the counter and Jack paid. Brock had finally given up battling him about it, and they rented shoes. 

Music pulsed through the building. It wasn’t too busy, just a few lanes occupied by those escaping the rain like they were. “Just warning you, I’m kind of a boss at this.” Brock warned with a swagger to his steps. 

Jack suppressed a smile. “I think I’ll be okay.” 

“Your funeral.” 

They selected their balls and logged their names. Brock went first and, as he had bragged, got a strike. He grinned, eyes glimmering. Jack had to be careful with his strength as he lifted the ball. It was feather light and he had to hold back when he came to rolling it. He needed to copy the human motions. He drew his arm back and slowly brought it forward with a gentle twitch of his wrist. He was pleased with the force he’d put behind it, maybe a bit too hard but acceptable, and he followed up Brock’s strike with one of his own. 

“Oh good you don’t suck,” Brock said from the sofa. “It’s so boring playing with people who can’t bowl.” 

“I had no idea you were so passionate about bowling.” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Brock sounded a bit proud of that. He was livelier during the day, boisterous and outspoken. Or maybe this was the effect bowling alleys had on him. “What about you? Clearly you’ve bowled before for not liking bowling.” 

“I used to bowl.” 

“Oh?” 

“Back when that’s all there was to do,” Jack said without too much of a thought. Brock looked at him oddly and Jack quickly added, “There was an alley in the neighborhood.” 

“You haven’t told me much about growing up.” 

“There’s not much to share,” he said and thought, _there’s not much I remember._

“So tell me the boring stuff.” He bowled and got a split. “Ah fuck.” 

“Tough luck, kid.” 

“Kid?” He shot him an incredulous look. “You’re not that much older than me.”

Jack couldn’t hold back his laughter at the sheer absurdity of what he was doing. Here he was, a 141 years old in some souped up bowling alley with a twenty-something. Brock looked at him as if he’d gone crazy and Jack quickly got himself under control. “What’s so funny?” 

“You. C’mon you have a split to attend to.” 

If Brock had more questions or reservations about his reaction it was overshadowed by his determination and human one-track mind. He was able to get one pin with his second bowl and Jack stood as the pins reset, grabbing his ball. For Brock’s sake he bowled a split and missed entirely on his second turn. Brock gloated it and rolled a strike. Jack allowed Brock to win and the two of them returned their shoes. It was still pouring so they stood by the door while awaiting for the Uber Jack had ordered the two of them. 

“I don’t want to go home yet,” Brock announced. “Are you up for some beers at Razzy’s?” 

Jack didn’t want to leave Brock so he was grateful for the suggestion. “I’d love that.” 

The Uber came and they adjusted their destination from Brock’s apartment to the bar. Jack was in high spirits until he stepped into the bar and caught sight of familiar blazing red hair. He froze, the urge to grab Brock and drag him to safety all consuming.

“Jack?”

Once more Jack had been so consumed with Brock’s scent he hadn’t thought to scent the area for other vampires — especially vampires invested in the death of Brock. Natasha turned, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. She’d put in her green contacts. She smiled, all teeth, and Jack’s lip twitched aching to peel back and expose his own. Thankfully logic won out and he said, “You know, I think I’d rather go home.” 

Brock looked completely lost. Natasha was halfway to them. “We should go.” 

He nearly grabbed Brock’s hand before he remembered he couldn’t and then it was too late. “Jack!” 

Brock turned at her voice and his jaw dropped as he stared at her. “Jack!” her voice rang out, just as perfect as her appearance. “What are the chances — this must be Brock.” 

How dare she involve herself in his process? He was bristling silently and he knew that Natasha was well aware of how unwanted she was. “You know me?” Brock asked faintly. 

Every eye in the bar was on Natasha and now it had shifted to the three of them. “Of course I do. Only good things of course. Let me buy you a beer.” 

She reached out and placed her hand on the small of his back. Jack hissed, too quietly for human ears and Natasha ignored him, well aware there was nothing he could do in front of so many humans. Brock walked with her looking too shocked to do anything. There was a different bartender working the day shift, a man, who was clearly taken by Natasha, his eyes rarely leaving her. Jack stalked behind them, trying hard to keep his anger invisible to those around him and failing. 

“So, what do you drink Brock?” she asked with a disarming smile on her lips. 

Brock seemed to pull himself out of his daze. “Oh, B-Bud Lite.” 

She turned that smile to the bartender. “Did you get that?” 

“Yes,” he sounded faint, like he was on the verge of passing out. Chances were all the blood was rushing from his head to another location at a record pace. 

Brock twisted around to look at Jack and he tried to drop his hunched shoulders and smile. “Who are you?” he finally asked. 

“Oh, how terribly rude of me. I’m Natasha. I’m Jack’s roommate.” 

“ _Oh._ ” Jack could only guess what he was thinking — what were the chances of two beautiful people living together in the same household? Why had Jack already shared about him when they were still so new. “It’s great to meet you.” 

“And you. Jack, please, come sit with us.” 

Jack wondered if Clint was lingering nearby, a failsafe should Jack try something. Stiffly he walked to the stool to Brock’s right and sat. The bartender stared openly at him and then looked at Brock with clear confusion. Once more Jack was frustrated by human’s inability to see how incredible he was. The beer was set in front of Brock and he hovered waiting for another drink order. Natasha grew tired of being ogled and dismissed him with a, “That’ll be all, thank you.” 

“Aren’t you two going to drink something?” Brock asked, recovering far quicker than Jack had expected. Perhaps being around him had built up a level of immunity to the shockingly beautiful. 

“I had a drink before I came.” 

“What do you — ”

“Tell me about you,” she burst out with a smile. “Jack wasn’t very forthcoming with the details you see. He was content to keep you all to himself. How so very _selfish_ of him.” 

Jack’s grip tightened and he was careful to school his expression. They had an agreement, she had understood he was going at his own pace. That gave him the right to go as slow as he possibly could. 

“Oh there’s not much to tell.” he nervously took a swig of his drink and snuck a look towards Jack. 

It was a beg for help and Jack so desperately wanted to answer it but there was no way for him to. Hating every moment of being helpless, he sat there and tried to encourage him with a smile. 

“Uh, okay.” Brock seemed to abandon the lifeline he’d been reaching for and returned to looking at Natasha. “I’m currently unemployed — I sold cars before. That, uh, didn’t end up working out though. I like to work out. Boxing is my thing.” 

Boxing? Brock hadn’t mentioned that prior. That made Jack anxious — there was still so much to learn about him. “Boxing? How fascinating. Kind of a bloody sport, isn’t it?” 

Jack’s hands clenched again. “Sometimes.” 

“Does it bother you?” 

“Blood? Not really. Not the squeamish type.” 

“That’s good.” 

Confused Brock said, “Uh, yeah, sure.” 

It was clear what Natasha was doing. She was going through a line of questioning to vet turning Brock, something that Jack didn’t have the nerve to do yet. Jack wasn’t receiving it well. It was too soon. Brock needed to remain human for as long as possible. Why couldn’t she understand that? 

“Hmm, how about family? Friends?” 

Christ, she may as well have come right out and asked. Jack hadn’t traversed the topic yet because it would be turned back around on him and he’d yet to come up with a solid lie. 

“Oh, uh, not much family. I was raised by my nonna — grandmother — but she passed a few years ago. I have friends but they’re busy starting families and shit.” Brock shrugged. 

“Well,” Natasha said, looking over his head to Jack. “That’s about all I have time for. It was great to meet you Brock. I’m certain we’ll be seeing plenty of each other in the future. Jack, always a pleasure.” 

“Natasha,” he said, polite but curt. 

She got to her feet in one graceful motion and smiled at Brock. She saw her way out and Jack realized he hadn’t breathed or moved the entire time. He doubted anyone had noticed. The patrons were all male and all attention had been focused on Natasha. He inhaled and let Brock’s scent scald his throat. He would miss the burn once Brock was no longer human. 

“Holy shit,” Brock breathed. “You didn’t tell me your roommate was a model.” 

“She’s a pharmacist.” Jack said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. Her credentials were forged each time they changed locations. 

“Wow,” he shook his head. “I’ve never seen a woman who looked like that.” 

“Should I be worried?” Jack asked dryly. 

Brock snorted. “No. She’s nothing compared to you.” 

“And I am nothing in comparison to you.” And he _ was _ . Their beauty was a side effect of what they were, a tool for hunting, unnatural and fabricated. Brock was natural. 

“You’re crazy.” Brock took another drink of his beer. 

“Maybe.” Jack agreed. 

  * • •• •• ••



Jack slammed the door when he arrived home as hard as he could without cracking it. He needed to convey how furious he was without losing himself the way he had last time. But this time was worse, much worse. Natasha appeared before him, leaning against the wall. Her eyes were a bit dark — she would need to hunt soon and she’d dared to come near Brock? His fury reached a new peak. 

“How dare you.” he hissed between grit teeth. 

“You needed some encouragement. I provided that. But I see what you meant by his scent… It’s enticing to say the least.” Jack hissed and Clint was at her side. “I don’t intend on laying a finger on him. None of us do. But we do want you to get it done sooner than later. If news gets out there’s a vampire courting a human…well, you know how rumors spread. We have to watch our own backs too.” 

“I know.” Jack said, frustrated. “I know.” 

“He has no family, hardly any friends. No issue with blood. Violence is a hobby of his — you’d be hard pressed to find a more perfect candidate.” 

“Candidate,” Jack laughed bitterly. “You say it like this is something he’s rallying for.” 

“He could be, should you have given him the opportunity.” 

Jack huffed furiously. “I don’t want to.” 

“Because you know he’ll agree.” It was Clint speaking now. “It’s been a long time since you were a human, Jack. You don’t remember how fiercely you love.” 

Jack understood fierce love just fine. His feelings toward Brock couldn’t be described as anything else. “I don’t want to steal his life from him.” 

“You’re not stealing his life — you’re offering a new one. One with the person you love more than words can ever describe. I knew my answer immediately and Natasha told me after a week of us knowing each other. It’s been what, three?” 

Had it been that long? It all felt so fresh, so new. “He’ll hate me for it eventually.” 

“Steve doesn’t hate Bucky.” 

How couldn’t he? Jack hated his creator for what he had become. 

“I need to hunt tonight,” he said, changing the topic. “Want to come with me?” 

Natasha allowed the topic change and nodded her head. “Sure.” 


	5. Chapter 5

It was a cloudy overcast day so Jack agreed to lunch at a sub shop. They walked as they ate, Brock telling him about well the interview had gone. “I’m pretty confident I got the job.” He looked up at Jack. “They even offered me over minimum wage despite my lack of experience. I think you’re my good luck charm.” 

Jack smiled but inside he cringed. He was the opposite of a good luck charm. His presence had done nothing but attract darkness and danger. Jack _was_ darkness and danger. He was greedy and selfish and did not deserve the way that Brock looked at him. Brock was in a good mood, jovial and upbeat. Jack wondered if such emotion would carry over. Coming to the realization that he had no choice was as disheartening as he was exhilarating. It was so disgusting and selfish to seal him to a life in the dark but fate had aligned them this way. Jack hadn’t been able to leave the man alone and now they had ended up here: it was the only option. 

Fate, as it happened, seemed to be on his side as Brock asked if he’d like to come up to his apartment to watch a movie. Before Jack wouldn’t have trusted himself alone with Brock where his scent was so potent and alluring. But Jack was going to have to expose himself as a monster sooner than later and today was a good way to ease into it. Perhaps he would finally touch him, feeling his warm soft flesh while it was still that way. It pained him to realize that his days breathing were limited but he steeled himself against it. 

It was the only way. 

They climbed the steps to apartment 306 and Brock apologized quickly for a nonexistent mess. Jack brushed it off, looking around at the things he’d already seen to see if anything had changed. The couch had shifted back a bit from someone sitting heavily on it. That was the only notable difference. Jack lowered himself on the couch as Brock put a disk into a gaming system beneath the TV. 

“It’s my favorite,” he prefaced. 

It turned out to be an action movie, full of explosions and colorful language. It lacked in class in every way and Jack found that absolutely adorable. He watched Brock more than he watched the film, his eagerness toward a movie he’d undoubtedly seen many times over unbroken even with a guest beside him. Jack admired him, the shadow of his jawline, the tiny bristles just beginning to peek from his olive skin, too small for human eyes to notice. Suddenly he was staring into wide honey eyes, wonderful color filling his cheeks. Such blushes were limited Jack realized with a heavy heart. He savored it then, refusing to rush into addressing the silence between them even with Brock’s pulse bounding. 

“What?” Brock finally rasped. “Is there…is there something on my face?” 

“No.” Jack said, eyes returning Brock’s gaze. “Your face is perfect.” 

Brock laughed nervously, hands wringing together in his lap. He released one, shifting it so it laid on the couch between them. Yet another olive branch being extended to him. It crossed Jack’s mind to refuse, to drag out the time between his discovery of Jack’s true nature, but he wanted to touch him too badly. Jack trailed a finger over his open palm, relishing the warmth of his soft skin. Brock gasped quietly at the chill of his touch, fingers twitching a bit as though he wanted to pull away. Jack wished desperately he would but he didn’t. 

“You’re so cold,” Brock murmured.

“Yes.” Jack agreed. He didn’t offer a reason and Brock didn't ask. It hung between them a factual statement and little more. “You’re warm.” 

“Am I?” Brock’s teeth worried his bottom lip as he undoubtedly worried it would be off-putting -- as if anything Brock could do would ever be off-putting for Jack. He was wrapped up too tightly in Brock. 

“Yes. You’re perfect.” 

Brock tittered nervously. “I’m the furthest thing from perfect. _You_ on the other hand…” 

This was it. Brock had felt his icy touch and hadn’t recoiled in disgust. He was still here. “I’m nothing compared to you.” Jack murmured. 

Jack grew bold at his reaction and used two fingers to stroke from the pad of his middle fingers his wrist. He touched his wrist, felt his racing pulse throbbing beneath his skin. Thirst seared in his throat, venom pooling. He stroked the area, momentarily seeing nothing red, dreaming of nothing more than Brock’s sweet blood slipping down his throat, extinguishing the burn and leaving him sated. But as quickly as it appeared, Jack froze and shoved it away. Brock’s eyes had drifted shut and Jack admired the tiny veins criss crossing inside thin skin. So beautiful, so human. Knowing that he would be the one to that all away had him tucking his hand back to his side. 

Brock’s eyes fluttered open at the lack of the contact. Only then did Jack notice that his skin had drawn tight in reaction to his cold touch, hairs standing erect. He resented his repacity. Causing Brock any discomfort was reprehensible. 

“That’s the first time you’ve ever touched me,” Brock marveled out loud. 

“Yes,” Jack agreed. “It was worth the wait.” 

“You know you can touch me more. If-if you want, of course.” 

Jack did want to. “My touch doesn’t…bother you?” 

“Of course not.” Brock said quickly, brows knitting together in confusion. 

Jack wished it did. That would make it all so much easier. Taking his face and the safety of his side, he returned to greedily feeling his soft skin. Such a fragile thin, human skin, so easily torn. Jack fretted about all the things that could rip Brock’s perfect unmarked flesh, spilling his perfect, sweet blood needlessly. His throat seared but his jaw clenched in fury at the nameless force causing Brock harm in the scenario. It was a gross overreaction but it felt fitting. It was Jack’s job to protect Brock, it may have been self assigned but that didn’t undermine its importance. If only Jack could protect him from himself. The movie continued in the background while Jack got bold enough to explore the crook of his elbow. The veins there were more pronounced and Jack let himself hear the rushing of blood through his body as he felt it pulsating beneath his fingers. 

“Can I touch you?” Brock requested quietly. 

Jack didn’t want to stop touching Brock; he was powerless to deny a request from Brock. With a stiff nod he copied Brock’s position, palm facing the ceiling. He wondered if Brock noticed how pale he was compared to the beige couch but if he did he didn’t mention it. Brock didn’t hesitate as long as Jack had, he was eager. It only took a quick touch to have him gasping tucking his hand closer to him. Perhaps things would come out sooner than he had intended. Natasha would be pleased. 

“What are you?” Brock didn’t sound horrified, he sounded curious though hesitant, head cocking to the side as he scrutinized Jack. He wasn’t running, wasn’t putting space between them. “You’re not human, are you?” 

“No.” Jack admitted. 

He waited for the recoil, the horror, the _fear_ . Brock didn’t do any of that. He swallowed, throat bobbing, pulse bounding. Jack stared into his eyes, unmoving, unblinking, unbreathing. He was waiting for the shoe to drop. For his human mind to wrap around the fact that he was sitting beside a monster. But there was no fear, no sense of self preservation kicking in, no instinct telling him that Jack was a predator. He wanted it as much as he feared it. 

“Then what are you?” 

Jack was up and hovering over him in seconds. He needed to see the fear, needed to show Brock that he was in danger being around him. Brock’s eyes popped wide as he stared up at him. A light tremor travelled through him but his scent hadn’t changed to one of fear. “How did you do that?” he asked, a mere whisper. 

“I’m not human,” Jack reminded him, voice husky. _Run away, Brock._

“Then what are you?” he asked again, this time a bit firmer — as if he had power in the situation. 

Jack had to laugh, he couldn’ t help it. To meet a human so fearless was… It was incomparable. “I’m a vampire.” 

Brock swallowed loudly. “A vampire,” he echoed. “Like a…a blood sucking, burns in the sun vampire?” 

Jack dismissed the myth and nodded his head, straightening up. Surely now the fear would be there. Surely his human instincts would kick in and he would try to run. “Yes.” 

Another swallow. Brock looked away from him a moment, looking down at his lap before he looked back up a strange determination in his eyes. “Is that why wouldn’t kiss me?” 

Jack was floored. Of all the things he could have said, all the questions he could have asked, he was worried about a kiss. “I couldn’t let you know.” 

“Then why are you telling me now? What’s changed?” 

Jack returned to his spot on his couch and Brock jumped a bit at his sudden appearance. He’d forgotten to use his human speed — how easy it was to be his true self with him already. “When I met you I was planning on killing you. Never in all my years have I met a human that smells quite like you. Your blood sings to me. I risk losing control every moment I’m around you” Jack paused, waiting for the horror, the outrage, the _fear_ . 

“But you haven’t killed me.” Not even a waver in eye contact. 

“No, I can’t.” Jack admitted with a tone of vindication. 

“Because you find me…interesting?” 

“Among other things.” 

Brock nodded his head slowly. “But now you don’t want to?” 

“No, I don’t want to.” But he had no choice. “Humans aren’t allowed to know about vampires. There are…forces in place to enforce that.” 

“And what will those forces do if they find out I know?” 

“Kill you.”

“Oh.” Another gulp. “I guess I’m kinda fucked either way.” 

Jack’s jaw tightened. “I won’t let them hurt you.” 

_Until I kill you,_ he thought. Brock managed a smile. “Well I really appreciate that. Are there, umm, a lot of them looking to kill me?” Brock laughed but it was out of nervousness. 

Jack was relieved to see some semblance of a human reaction from him. “They don’t know yet. And, assuming you don’t share, they won’t.” 

“I think people would think I was crazy if I walked around saying that my boyfriend is a vampire.” 

_Boyfriend_ . Such a human term but Jack liked how it made him feel. How it gave him a claim to strike on Brock. Jack smiled. “True, but still.” 

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Brock insisted, clearly hurt by the implication. 

“Thank you Brock.” 

“Can I… Can I ask you questions?” 

Questions were good. Get Brock familiar with the ins and outs of the undead before he was forced to present him with turning as an option — as though he had any choice in the matter. “Sure.” 

“Your skin is so cold — aren’t you freezing?” 

“No.” 

“Can you feel when you’re being touched? Your hand was so _hard_ .” 

“Yes, I can feel it.” 

Brock’s lips parted slightly as he reached out and touched his skin again. This time he didn’t pull away. He rested his whole hand against his forearm. His warmth blossomed against his skin and Jack inhaled his scent deeply, letting it swirl around his head. He could feel the blood running through the vessels in his hand and hear the upticked beat of his heart. Brock showed no fear, no disgust in how overtly _inhuman_ he was. It seemed to pique his curiosity if nothing more. 

“Do crosses and holy water burn you?”

Jack couldn’t help but laugh at the innocent worry of the question. “No, those are just myths. Like the sun thing.”

Brock frowned looking up at him. His lashes fringed his honey eyes and Jack was pulled even deeper into the hold Brock held on him. “How come you only came out because it’s cloudy today?”

“The sun reflects off my cells. It’s quite…noticeable.”

“What does that mean, _reflects?_ ”

“I’ll show you sometime.”

“Can you turn into a bat?” 

“Unfortunately not.”

“Death by a wooden stake?”

“My skin is impenetrable by most things.” He spared him the details. He wasn’t equipped to answer questions about shape-shifters and Children Of the Moon. “So, no, wooden crosses and stakes do not work.”

“So you’re telling me that vampires are fast, have some sort of visible reaction to the sun and look like models?” He asked, incredulous. “I expected something…scarier.”

Jack smiled warily. “You forgot the bloodlust.”

“Oh, right.” How he could forget the pinnacle of being a vampire was beyond him. “What’s it like, drinking blood?”

A question that Jack didn’t want to answer. Now he’d achieved his goal of frightening him earlier he didn’t want to do so again. “It’s… It's hard to explain. It’s…” He finally said and together they said, “Complicated.”

“Complicated,” Brock echoed. “That seems to be your favorite excuse to get out of questions.”

How bright he was to make these connections so quickly. “It’s hard to explain without scaring you.”

“You haven’t spooked me yet,” he jutted his chin forward. “C’mon I can take it.”

Jack sighed. “It depends on who I’m feeding on, I suppose. Different flavors for different people. No two have tasted alike but they have a common…taste.”

“And what taste is that?”

“It’s good.” Jack said, throat burning furiously as he was reminded that the best meal he could ever have was sitting in front of him, touching him, in perfect reach… “It satisfies your thirst.”

Brock nodded his head. “What happens to the people you feed on.” Jack looked at him and his eyes said it all. Brock swallowed as if he hadn’t considered the fallout of sustaining on human blood. “Oh.”

“Not pretty is it? I may look nice on the outside but _inside,_ what I really am…”Jack shook his head. “I’m what you fear lurking around corners at night.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“I should.”

“Maybe but you don’t.” Brock, so very bold and brave. It was stupid and admiral all at once. “Do your roommates know?”

Jack laughed. “They’re also vampires.”

“Oh. That explains how Natasha looked so… I guess that makes sense, all of you living together… Do you think I could meet them?”

Brock had come face to face with a vampire and within minutes was requesting to see more. “Perhaps.” Jack truly didn’t know the answer.

It certainly wouldn’t hurt to get Brock acquainted before posed the question of turning him. Brock was still touching him despite his body being cold and unpleasant for humans. Or, rather, _most_ humans. Brock was nothing like them. And that made him so extraordinary. 

“Do other things exist too? Zombies, werewolves and stuff?” 

“Shape-shifters exist but I don’t know enough about them to tell you much. I haven’t crossed any — thankfully. We don’t really get along.” 

Brock nodded, fingers still trailing along his skin. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“What?” 

Brock looked up at him. “That you’re a vampire. I was thinking that there was something I was doing wrong but it was…”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said earnestly. “I never wanted you to feel that way. I just… I was fairly certain you wouldn’t be interested in sticking around.” 

Brock’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? I knew from the moment that I met you that I liked you more than I’ve ever met and that was a weird feeling. I don’t mind it though, it felt comfortable somehow too. Being with you felt right. I hated being away from you. I thought I was a complete freak becoming attached to someone I hardly knew — hardly _know_ . Is there anything you told me that was true?” he asked, sounding a bit disappointed. 

“I told you more truths than lies. I just withheld the details.” 

Brock nodded his head and then a look of determination entered his eyes. “Well, seeing as I know now, can I kiss you?” 

The idea he’d want to be anywhere near his teeth after hearing such a thing was mind-boggling but Brock was powerless to deny him. “If you’d like.” 

Brock shifted closer and Jack felt his heat radiating off of him. His scent was overpowering and venom pooled in his mouth. Jack quickly swallowed which made the fire burn brightly. His control wavered a moment, a brief second where he risked losing his grip, but as Brock placed his open hand on his chest and he felt the heat of his touch blossoming against his skin he was back in the driver seat. Brock’s eyes were wide and honest, his tongue sweeping out nervously to wet his lower lip. His eyes fluttered his shut as he leaned in. Brock’s lips, warm and soft, molded around Jack’s unyielding ones. If it bothered him to kiss something so cold and hard he didn’t show it. It felt wrong for Jack’s eyes to remain shut as much as he loved to stare at Brock. His eyes drifted shut and he felt the contacts dissolve — yet another thing he’d forgotten to share. 

The kiss was chaste and long. It was the accumulation of unresolved moments together and Jack basked in it. Brock finally drew back, eyes fluttering open. He gasped quietly when Jack opened his eyes. He could see himself in Brock’s eyes, eyes bright crimson. 

“Your _eyes_ … Did that happen because I kissed you?” Brock’s voice dropped to a whisper. 

“No, it’s what they look like.” 

“But they were just green.” 

“Those were contacts.” 

“Oh.” 

“As you can imagine walking around with red eyes might draw attention.” 

“Oh,” Brock said again. He was still staring into his eyes. “They’re beautiful.” 

Beautiful? “Don’t try to flatter me with lies, Brock.” 

“I’m not,” he protested. “They are! They’re so…vibrant. Red’s my second favorite color.” 

Oh, right. A hesitant smile crossed Jack’s face and Brock smiled back. “I suppose it is.” 

“Natasha — was she wearing contacts too?” 

“Yes.” 

“Wow. I can’t believe you’re a vampire.” He sat back a bit. Maybe it was finally hitting him. “I fell in love with a _vampire._ ” Or maybe he was still going to surprise Jack. “It must be neat.” 

“It’s not.” Jack said darkly. 

“It’s not? Surely there’s some perk to it? Being super fast must be cool.” 

Jack inclined his head. It was nice, especially when he was in the countryside. “It’s a waste in the city. Around humans we have to move at their speed.” 

“Are we slow?” 

“Slower than you could possibly imagine.” 

Brock laughed. “Anything else you can do?” 

“We’re very strong.” 

“Stronger than me?” he asked.

“Incredibly.” 

His lips formed an ‘o’ as he racked his mind for more questions. The credits were rolling but he didn’t seem to have noticed. “What do your roommates think about me?” 

A million dollar question. “They were…unsupportive, at first.” Brock’s face fell. “But they’ve realized how much you mean to me and adjusted their position.” 

“I take it humans and vampires don’t often fall in love.” 

“It happens more often than you’d think.” _And the vampire traps them into a sentence of eternity._

It didn’t take more than a second for Brock to put together what happened in such cases and Jack could see the question before he asked. “Will you turn me?” 

Jack sighed quietly. He hadn’t wanted to reach this point, had battled so hard to delay it. “I don’t have a choice.” 

Brock swallowed and sat back a bit further. Finally, an appropriate reaction. “Because of the forces?” 

“Because of the forces,” Jack warred with himself on his honesty. “And because if I don’t, I will kill you eventually.” 

Brock blinked at him. “Sorry?” 

“Your blood… It sings to me. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve smelled. That night at the bar I was there to hunt you. But you fascinated me. I couldn’t bear that idea of hurting -- I can’t bear it even now.” 

“But _ eventually _ you will.” Brock’s said, deadpan. 

“I have good control but all it will take is one slip up. I can’t live with myself if I let that happen.” Brock took a deep breath. The silence stretched, brittle and uncomfortable until Jack said, “Brock?” 

“Give me a second,” he rasped. “It’s not everyday someone confesses to wanting to murder and eat you.” 

Jack cringed at the bluntness of it. But it was true — this was a well deserved reaction. “Would you like me to leave?” Jack finally asked when the quiet got unbearable. 

“Please.” 

Jack got to his feet and went to the door. He hated himself so much in that moment. “I’m sorry Brock.” 

“Goodbye, Jack.” 

“Goodbye.” 

Natasha met him on the street and Jack couldn’t even muster annoyance. “He’ll come around,” she assured him. 

“And if he doesn’t?” 

“He will.” 

“You can’t promise that.” 

“No, but I’ve been around for a long time. Even the most unpredictable of humans have a level of predictability. Especially when it comes to the matters of the heart. He’ll come around.” She put a hand on his shoulder. 

Jack could only hope she was right. 


	6. Chapter 6

One day stretched to two and then a week passed him by turning to two. Each second was a pain Jack had never known. Jack couldn’t cry but if he could, he would have. He mourned his loss of Brock furiously, replaying the conversation. In these replays he considered omitting his weakness for Brock’s blood and his nefarious intentions regardless of how they had changed. In those fantasies things went better. Brock held his hand and they shared space the way that Jack had only dreamed of since they met. 

News had spread through the house courtesy of Natasha and the anger towards him had shifted to a general feeling of pity which made things even worse. Had he fucked up things so badly with Brock that his friends could no longer bear to be angry? He stared at his phone for hours, looking at the imperfections in the touch screen trying to will Brock into texting him. It would die and he would sit on the floor beside the charger and do the same. He wouldn’t move for hours, still as a statue: Heartbroken Vampire. 

If only he’d kept his mouth shut. But then the guilt would have eaten at him. This was what he’d wanted anyway — to drive Brock away. He’d succeeded and he was hating every second of it. There was a knock on the door and he knew it was Natasha by her footsteps. “You need to hunt.” 

“I’m not thirsty.” 

He _was_ but he didn’t want to risk being distracted if Brock chose to reach out. “Yes you are.” She was his side, hauling him up despite his objections. “Let’s go.” 

Jack realized exactly how pathetic he was being and dropped his face in his hands. “I’m such a fucking idiot.” 

“Love makes us all fools. You’ll feel better after you’ve fed.” 

Skulking the streets after dark was familiar in the worst of ways. All he could think about was walking Brock home after a dinner date or catching a movie. He tried to let his thirst drive him, throw himself head first into hunting. He found a young male cutting through an alley and snapped his neck. The blood was thick and he had to force it down. It satisfied his thirst and little else. It didn’t elevate his mood, didn’t lessen his suffering any. And it _was_ suffering. Being without Brock was far more painful than he had ever imagined it to be. 

Brock held Jack’s freezing heart in his hand and was unknowingly crushing it. 

Of course he had every right, every reason, to do so. Jack was a predator to be feared by Brock -- especially by Brock. He was giving him an unfair ultimatum and Brock had every reason to hate him for it. He turned home and soaked his shirt to remove bloodstains. He went to his phone, prepared to freeze over it for another week but was startled to find a message. 

Brock: Will you come over so we can talk? 

It was almost forty minutes ago and Jack was furious he had left in the beginning. He should have gone with his gut and stayed. He typed his reply too fast for the touchscreen to recognize and groaned as he retyped it at the slow human speed. 

Jack: Of course. If you’re still awake.

It wasn’t long before the phone vibrated. 

Brock: I’m still awake.

Jack was out the door immediately. The ferry ride was more strenuous than it had ever been and once it was docked had trouble keeping his stride paced as he went to apartment 306. He knocked twice and the door was pulled open. Brock had dark bags under his eyes and he had lost a bit of weight. Immediately Jack was worried. Brock stepped aside and gestured for him to come in. Jack did so obediently. 

“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as the door was open. “I’d _never_ hurt you, Brock. I know I said -- ”

“I said my goodbyes. My friends think I’m relocating to Greenland.” 

Jack blinked. “What?” 

Brock shrugged. “I always wanted to visit there. Seemed like a good lie.” 

“You haven’t contacted me in weeks.” Jack reminded him. “You’re upset with me.” 

“I was,” he agreed. “But then I realized that you can’t really help being attracted to my blood. It’s part of being a vampire. You had the opportunity to kill me and you didn’t. As for the future…” His Adam's apple bobbed. “You’re clearly against the idea. So…so the only option for us is you turning me.” 

As elated as Jack was at his understanding and forgiveness his heart broke at the certainty in his voice. At the fact that he’d made a decision that Jack would have to go through with. “You’ll never get to feel the sun on your skin again. Never sleep.” 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he said with a half grin at the irony. “You never showed me what happens in the sun.” 

“I didn’t get a chance.” Jack said before cringing at how it seemed to put blame wrongly on Brock. 

He winced. “I missed you every day. But then I was so…”

“Scared.” Jack supplied. 

Brock grimaced but nodded. “It took me some time to understand. But I’m confident in my choice. But I want to meet your roommates first. And-and ask some questions about the…process.” 

“I can do that.” 

Brock smiled thinly. “Come sit with me?” he nodded towards the couch where everything had fallen apart. 

“Of course.” 

Jack was greedy to make up for lost time with Brock. To cherish the time he had left with Brock while he was human. But he was still slightly hesitant, remembrance of what had happened last time perfectly fresh in his mind. He settled down, Brock sinking down at his side. Despite his leave being centered around him killing Brock, he didn’t put much space between them at all, reaching for Jack’s hand fearlessly. 

“You didn’t put in your contacts.” 

Jack hadn’t even thought of it in his rush to get here. A lapse in judgement. “No, I forgot.” 

“Isn’t that dangerous?” 

“Extremely. But I was in a rush to get back to you.” 

“I’m glad,” Brock admitted. “I was hoping you’d come here in a rush.” 

At least it wasn’t only him who had missed the other fiercely. Jack let him take his arm, moving with him because Brock wouldn't be able to handle it’s full weight. He was much heavier than he appeared. Brock rested it on his thigh and threaded their fingers together — holding hands for the very first time. Their first time experiences were certainly out of order but it was _theirs._ And that made it special. The feeling of their palms pressed together, warmth bleeding over his skin, was indescribably. Jack stared down at it, at his flushed skin in contrast to his pale, immortal complexion. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine Brock’s hand white and entwined in his. He cringed. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Jack figured he could be frank with him. They’d exposed so much of themselves at this point there was no point in keeping anything from him. “I’m imagining you like me.” 

There was apprehension and eagerness in his eyes. His beautiful honey eyes that would turn red when his heart ceased to beat. “Will I… Will I look like you?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Unfortunately?” Brock quirked an eyebrow. “It’s not like looking like a model will cause me any suffering.” 

“It’s not that simple.” Jack’s voice turned harsh and he tried to soften it though the edge remained. “It’s not just looks. You won’t be _human._ Your eyes will be red and you’ll be pale and cold and hard and nothing like you are now.” 

Brock drew back a bit but he didn’t take his hand away. “Will you still care about me?” 

It was such an innocent question but so wildly stupid. “Are you kidding me? Nothing could stop me from loving you, Brock.” 

“Then you’ll adjust to this…this different version of me. It’s only physical. I’ll still be the same person.” 

“It changes you.” 

“Then I’ll change with you.” 

“You have too much faith in me.” 

“I happen to think I have the right amount.” He shifted closer, shoulder pressed against Jack’s bicep. He rested his head on his shoulder after a moment. “Is this okay?” 

Jack inhaled his scent. It made his throat burn but it was worth it. “More than okay.” 

He was eager to breath when he was in Brock’s presence, especially after being away for so long. It took Jack a moment to note that Brock’s heart rate had dropped and his breathing had evened out. Sleeping. Jack didn’t think it was a very comfortable position but he was unwilling to interrupt his rest so he made their breathing fall into rhythm, greedily inhaling his scent, and he closed his eyes. When the sun rose it filtered through the slots in the blinds, bouncing off his skin in a brilliant spectrum of colors, Jack awaited Brock’s rising. Brock was still asleep, unaware. Jack tried to guess his reaction -- confusion? Reluctance now he understood what ‘reaction’ wasn’t something that could be overpowered should he really need to feel the sun’s rays. 

It wasn’t until his alarm started to beep in his bedroom did he start awake. He jumped as if he hadn’t expected Jack to be there, hand tightening in his. “Your skin…” 

Jack had almost forgotten. He smiled dolefully. “The reaction to the sun.” 

“It’s amazing,” he said softly. He let go of his hand to brush his fingers over the opposite arm where the sun’s rays were bouncing off. “Does it bother you?” 

“No.” In fact the sun felt nice on his skin. 

“Wow.” Brock shook his head a bit. “I have to get ready for work. Will you…” 

“Wait for you?” 

Brock flushed. Another one down. “I’m sure you’re busy.” 

“The sun’s up, I can’t go anywhere anyway. I’m happy to wait here for you.” 

Brock smiled and stood up, stretching, that smile turning to a grimace. “I should have woken you up.” 

“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep on you,” Brock argued. How willingly he put the blame back on himself. “Hold on, I’m going to get dressed.” 

Jack nodded his head politely. Of course he was curious what laid beneath his clothing but such thoughts were dangerous. Humans were too fragile for such things and he didn’t want to hurt him. He couldn’t live with himself if he did. Brock was quick about changing, a nice button down and tan slacks: office wear. He’d gotten the job. He stopped in the bathroom, banging a few things around and the tap ran a moment before he emerged, proud quiff of hair standing tall. He approached Jack with determination and stood before him, rising up on his tiptoes. Jack knew what he was looking for and lowered his face to meet him halfway. Brock’s lips were as soft and warm as they had been during their first kiss. Jack reached up to cup the back of his neck, careful so very, very careful, and Brock’s lips parted his warm breath seeping into Jack’s mouth. His pulse was pounding and his blood rushing. 

There were only a limited number of kisses like this and Jack needed to cherish each and every last one. He pulled back to give Brock time to breath. Brock’s heels returned to the floor and his eyes opened, pupils dilated. “Wow,” he breathed. 

“Wow,” Jack agreed. He knew how Brock felt, how headey and ethereal it felt to touch him. The incandescence between them was like a live wire, shocking them as they came into contact with one another. “You need to eat.” 

“Eat?” He looked dazed, eyes drifting to the kitchen before he blinked, sense returning to him. “Eat, right.” 

Jack walked him across the room. He poured powder into a blender with oat milk and was soon drinking down especially unappetizing looking sludge. “What will you do here all day?” 

“I don’t know yet.” 

“Sorry I got you stuck here.” 

“There’s nowhere else I’d like to be stuck.” 

“Do you think I could meet your roommates tonight?” 

“Not tonight.” Jack would have to ensure Clint had fed before; he didn’t trust he had complete control yet, especially with Brock’s safety on the line. “Maybe tomorrow night.” 

“I have to put in my notice at my job too. So no one comes looking for me.” 

Jack wished Brock didn’t so eager. He had no idea what he was walking into. He wouldn’t understand until it was too late and no amount of explanation could properly describe what he was facing. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Now go before you’re late.” 

Brock scowled and then approached him for another kiss. They both broke apart feeling slightly drunk and Brock back up until his back bumped against the door. “You’ll still be here when I get home?” he asked again. 

“I’ll be right here,” Jack assured him. 

“I…I love you.” Brock said with a trace of hesitance and Jack realized that this was their first time using it in this regard. 

“I love you too.” he assured him. “Have a good day at work.” 

It was so ridiculously _domestic_ . It parodied a life that Jack wished he could have with him. Perhaps in that world Jack too would be off to work. In a commute with the sun shining upon him thinking about coming home to his handsome boyfriend. But instead he was going to prowl his apartment for hours and wait for him to arrive.

He ended up on the couch, resisting the urge to search the apartment top to bottom to find out more about Brock. The sun was sinking in the sky when Jack heard Brock’s footsteps on the sidewalk in front of the building. It felt like forever as he crossed the lobby and climbed the steps. Even though he was hurrying, heart pounding in what Jack thought was anticipation which thrilled him, it felt like forever before the key jiggled the lock. The door fell open and Brock looked flushed and in slight disarray. His shoulders sagged as he caught sight of Jack, closing the door with his foot as he dropped his bag. 

“You’re here.” 

“Of course.” 

He fell into his arms and Jack wrapped him up. His fresh scent swirled around them as Jack carefully angled his chin upwards and caught his lips. The kiss was dizzying, a sensation like blood rushing from his head though no blood ran through Jack’s veins. He felt as if he was put to the edge of a cliff and he was ready to take the dive off to drown in Brock. Jack drew back to give Brock time to breathe and he did so raggedly. Jack would have to remember to let him up sooner. 

Brock looked up at him. “Hi.” 

“Hello.” Jack kissed the tip of his nose to watch him blush. “How was work?” 

“It was work. What did you do all day?” 

“Thinking mostly.” 

“About what?” 

“You.” 

Another blush. Jack would never tire of it. “That must have been pretty boring.” 

“Not at all.” He stepped aside to allow Brock to put his things away. He did so with a lingering look at Jack. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too.” 

He freshened up and the two of them went back to the couch. Brock had a leg folded beneath him as he looked eagerly at Jack. His eyes twinkled. So warm… Jack was hit once with the image of Brock, lifeless and white with red eyes. He tried to shake it away as Brock held his hand. The cold didn’t seem to bother him. 

“How come I can’t meet them tonight?” 

Jack hesitated. He was afraid of scaring away Brock again. Of going another extended period of time without contact while his heart shadowed. But he owed Brock the truth. No, he owed him far more than that so his honesty was the least he could give him. 

“I want to make sure they’re not thirsty when you’re around.” 

“Oh.” Brock’s lips formed an ‘o’. He laughed a bit nervously. “That’s probably a good idea then.” 

Jack inclined his head in agreement. He didn’t want to talk about that though, he wanted to enjoy his time with Brock. He leaned in to kiss him and Brock met him eagerly. Jack paced them, ten seconds together, five seconds to breath. Rinse and repeat. As they continued however, the kisses changed. Brock started to take the lead which Jack allowed gladly. These kisses were shorter but faster, Brock seemed hurried, hand running up his forearms and then his thighs…and Jack drew back. 

“No.” 

Brock was dazed and flushed. It was a beautiful look on him and Jack committed it to memory. 

“No?” he seemed confused. 

His arousal was obvious and so very tempting but Jack couldn't trust himself with such things. Not when it came to Brock. He was too breakable. “I can’t. You’re… I’m a lot stronger than you. It takes a lot of focus to hold your hand without shattering it. I can’t risk getting distracted.” 

“I see.” Brock’s disappointment was poignant and Jack brushed his thumb over his cheek. “So what do you want to do if we can’t fool around?”

He sounded so sullen that Jack couldn’t help but laugh. His laughter earned him a glare and Jack pressed his lips together to try and hide his smile. “You could show me more of your favorite movies? Or perhaps your favorite seeing as we didn’t really watch much of it.”

Despite the earlier disappointment Brock perked up at the suggestion. “Good idea.”

Before long explosions filled the screen and cursing graced their ears. Brock curled up beside him, head on his shoulder seemingly unaffected by the chill of Jack’s body. Jack tilted his head to rest lightly on Brock’s, savoring how close he was, breathing in his scent. 

It was _perfect._ And it wouldn’t last. 

  * • •• •• ••



As much as it pained Brock to see Jack go, it hurt him worse to leave. 

“I have to warn them about tomorrow night. Give them time to hunt tonight.”

“Will you come back after?” Brock asked, teeth worrying his bottom lip. 

“Would you like me to?”

“I’ll wait up.”

“No, you need your rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Jack said firmly.

Brock looked like he wanted to argue so Jack kissed him. It was a dirty trick but it worked arguments dying as color crept up his cheeks. “If you aren’t sleeping when I come back I won’t kiss you for a month.”

Brock sputtered at the absurdity of it but didn’t call his bluff. “If you’re not here when I wake up I won’t let you kiss me for _two_ .” He countered looking awfully pleased to have one-upped him. 

Jack smiled. “Then we’re in agreement.” Jack moved to the door. “Sweet dreams Brock.” _While you can still have them._

“I’ll miss you.”

“And I will miss you.”

He left the apartment, leaving half of his heart behind, and started the trip home. He wondered if Natasha had come around or not but found he didn’t care. Brock had accepted him for the monster he was and he still loved him. That was a kind of love that very few people shared and Jack was lucky enough to be one of them. 

Steve wasn’t home when he arrived but he trusted him more than he trusted the others working in the medical field had given him iron like control. 

“So he returns,” Clint announced. 

Jack, still a bit irritated, just grunted. Natasha appeared at his shoulder. “I was worried. You’ve never been gone during the day.”

“He fell asleep on me. I couldn’t wake him.”

“Couldn’t or didn’t want to?”

“They’re the same thing.”

“So,” she sidled up to him. “I take it you’ve been forgiven and everything is back on the right path? I’ll admit I was worried there for a minute.”

“Me too.” Jack leaned against the empty fridge. Another prop in their lives. “He wants to meet you all tomorrow night.”

Bucky was in the kitchen immediately brows knit together. “What?”

It was laughable — a human wanting to step into a house full of vampires — but they would be part of his coven once he was turned. It wasn’t so ludicrous of an idea that he’d want some idea of who’d be around for all of eternity. 

“Ooh,” Clint said. “I for one want to meet this guy. See what all the fuss is about.”

“I have to turn him, don’t you want to know him first?” Jack asked Bucky.

“I suppose…” he frowned. “In that case I suppose I should hunt tonight instead.”

“You all should.”

“I’m not that thirsty,” Clint said but Natasha intervened before Jack had to.

“It can’t hurt. We’ll go to Seaside after.”

The promise of a run was enough to win him over and Jack made a mental note to thank Natasha once Clint was out of ear range. 

“I need you all to promise me you’ll be on your best behavior.”

“Scouts honor.” Clint said and Jack glared. He groaned. “Oh come _on._ I’m sorry okay. I got freaked by what you did to Nat and I reacted the same way you would if someone hurt your precious human. Give me a bit of slack here.”

Jack sighed releasing the last bit of a grudge he held over the man. He was right of course and that was a bitter pill to swallow but Jack choked it down regardless. 

Jack changed his clothes and charged his phone, remembering his contacts this time, and went to the ferry. Brock had left 306 unlocked which sent a wave of panic through him — he should have told him to lock the door and assured him of his ability to get in regardless. The apartment was empty and Brock was safe inside. _Asleep._ Jack walked soundlessly into the bedroom and found him in a position much like he had his first time visiting Brock. It felt like years ago though he recalled it all perfectly. He compared the two images in his head. The underwear was different and he had the blanket tangled around his ankles. His mouth was still slightly ajar and his arm was thrown over his face in a similar fashion. The fan hummed beside him.

Jack sunk down, poised to sit and watch as Brock breathed deeply, listening to his heartbeat. 

The sun rose slowly, bathing the room in faint light. Brock was impervious to it until the alarm started to go off. Brock groaned a moment, tossing a turning in the adult version of a fit before he suddenly bolted upright and stared at Jack, heart hammering. 

“Holy fuck.”

“What?”

“Were you _watching me sleep_ ?”

The way he said it told Jack it may not have been the best move. “There wasn’t much else to do.”

Brock scrubbed his hand over his face and Jack hoped he hadn’t angered him. “Okay,” he finally said and then smiled weakly. “You’re here at least. Guess that means you still get kisses.”

“And you were asleep,” Jack agreed. “We both made good on our promises.”

He slung his legs over the edge of the bed and then flushed as he realized what he was wearing. He grabbed his blankets pulling it over his body. Jack obediently gave him privacy to dress, going to the living room to wait. Brock emerged, fully dressed, and did the same routine as the day before complete with an earth shattering kiss that ended with a question.

“Am I meeting your roommates tonight?”

Jack hesitated before saying, “Yes.”

Ill-placed excitement shone in his eyes. A rabbit didn’t willingly race into a foxhole but this rabbit was doing exactly that and with a smile on his face. 

“Do you think they’ll like me?”

“Yes.” How could anyone dislike Brock? “I’m not too keen on having to share you with them.”

Brock bumped him with his hip. “At the end of the day I’m still yours.”

“And I am yours.” Jack agreed.

“Tell me about them,” he asked, preparing his god awful shake. 

“Well there’s Natasha — who you met. She came from Russia initially. No one knows how old she is or what her life was like before she was turned. Her…companion, I suppose you could call him, Clint, is the youngest of us all. She found him while we were living in Iowa a decade and a half ago.” Jack didn’t miss Iowa in the slightest. “Then there’s James — we call him Bucky — he was turned during World War Two while on tour in the Soviet Union. His companion, Steve, was from Brooklyn and turned in 40s.” 

“Are they nice?”

“Natasha is… It’s hard to read her but I believe she means well. Clint is immature,” Jack couldn’t help but scowl. “but he’s friendly. Bucky is quiet, reserved. He won’t say much. Steve’s probably the nicest of us all so I know you two will get along just fine.”

“Are they angry that I know about them?”

“They were worried at first but they’ve warmed up. They know you’re coming.”

Brock took a drink of his shake and shook his head. “I never thought the day would come when I’d be meeting a bunch of vampires.”

“And I never thought the day would come where I would be introducing a human to my coven.” Jack countered.

Brock smiled but it was doused in worry. Jack moved forward, a bit too fast for human eyes because Brock jolted as he found Jack standing directly in front of him. 

“Sorry,” Jack said softly. “It’s just so easy to be myself I forget.”

“It’s okay.” A flush had crept up his cheeks as it often did when Jack was in close proximity to him. It made him want to be so even more. “I should be used to it by now.”

Jack laughed softly. “This is still pretty new to you. Give yourself time to adjust.”

Brock nodded jerkily, eyes locked with Jack’s and he kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’re going to be late.”

Brock came to his senses at that, dazed look leaving his eye replaced with a glint of determination. “Right. Of course.”

Brock didn’t bother to ask if he’d stay — he had remembered from yesterday that the sun warranted him to stay where he was until nightfall when he would present Brock to his friends, his _family,_ and allow them to pass judgement. With a final kiss goodbye the door shut and Jack sat on the couch thinking of all the ways tonight could go wrong. 


	7. Chapter 7

Brock practically ran his way from the street to the apartment. Jack rolled his eyes both fond and exasperated. A part of him _was_ eager to show him off to his friends, to showboat the gem he’d found among the human rubbish. Brock threw the door open, looking around wildly for Jack as though he may have up and vanished. Granted it was cloudy enough that had Jack had any want to leave he could have done so safely. But why would he ever want to leave Brock? 

“Hi,” he breathed. 

“Hello.” Jack took his bag and stroked the side of his face. Brock uttered a breathy sigh, a beautiful sound, and leaned into his touch. “Was your day good?” 

“It was fine.” Brock murmured. “Was yours?” 

“It was fine,” Jack echoed. He didn’t express how much he’d missed him between pushing away images of Brock cold, white and lifeless. The thought pulled him from his temporary serenity with a frown that Brock didn’t notice right away, his eyes shut. “Are you certain you want to meet them tonight? There’s no rush.” 

Brock’s eyes opened at that, a suspicious light replacing his bliss. “I’m certain. What is it with you and trying to scare me away? It worked once and it sucked for the both of us.” 

“I don’t want to deceive you.” Jack replied. “You deserve to know exactly what you’re getting into.” 

“You said they…y’know, drank blood already. So it’ll be safe.” He said it with false confidence, his eyes giving away fear he didn’t want to voice. 

Jack sighed. “I just mean they’re not going anywhere anytime soon. If you want to put it off for a few days…or weeks,” Jack hoped desperately he would. The longer he put it off the longer Brock would remain human. “That’s fine.” 

“I don’t want to wait.” Brock said. 

Jack had expected as much. “Of course you don’t want to.” 

Brock jutted his chin up stubbornly. “When are we going?” 

Jack looked at the window. They could leave then safely but Jack had missed Brock. “Later.” he decided. 

He led him to the couch with care that had become second nature to him when he was around Brock. “You know you’re going to get bored making out with me eventually,” Brock said as Jack leaned in. 

His pulse was bounding however and color bloomed on his cheeks. “I highly doubt that. Just being near you in a treat you can’t even fathom.” 

Brock opened his mouth, undoubtedly to refute that, and Jack, unable to bear hearing him talk down about the wonder he was, caught his lips with his own. It was a slow kiss but enough to cause Brock to melt against him. Jack brushed his thumbs against his cheeks, avid for his warmth against his skin. Brock’s eyes fluttered shut and Jack kept his eyes open for the sake of his contacts and also to admire Brock’s face when it was so slack and serene. Brock’s lips parted a bit, his warm breath seeping into Jack’s breathless mouth. It was perfect and terribly temporary. He knew he would still love Brock unconditionally when he was turned but he feared Brock hating him. He would miss the little human intricacies of him, the sound of his heartbeat, the pulsating throb of blood travelling through his body, his warm breath and soft skin. So breakable, so mortal, so _human_ .

He pulled back to give Brock a moment to breathe and he took advantage of that with a deep ragged breath. “I keep thinking I’ll get used to kissing you,” Brock admitted, voice rough with desire that Jack wished so intensely he could satisfy. That was the one positive he could think about when he imagined Brock so flawless and white — they could finally explore the sexual tension that hung between them. “But each time feels like the first.” 

Jack could agree. The rush of nerves, of excitement, had yet to dull. The sheer thrill of being so close to Brock, touching him while drowning in his perfect scent was the closest Jack would ever get to heaven. Jack murmured his agreement and dropped his eyes down to the tattoo on the inside of Brock’s bicep. “I hope you’re not too attached to those.” 

“Hm?” 

“Your tattoos.” 

“Why?” 

“They’ll go away. Every scar, ever blemish, every _tattoo_ will be gone by the time you wake up.” Jack hated that he was taking away a part of Brock. At one point in his life he had made the commitment of decorating his body and now that choice was rendered moot. A waste. 

“That’s too bad,” Brock said with a slight frown. “But I’ll get over it.” 

Jack frowned. “You’re taking this too well.” 

“I cut you off for two weeks,” Brock reminded him. “That’s the opposite of ‘taking it well’.” 

The remembrance cut him like a knife would had he been human. He flinched and Brock frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean to…to bring it up like that.” 

“It’s fine.” Jack said quickly. “I suppose you have a point. But I don’t understand how you can be so okay with having to be one of _us_ .” 

“If it’s what I have to do to be with you then it’s worth it.” Brock offered a half smile. “Plus, there’s no other option. Even if there _was,_ I would have asked eventually.” 

“And I would have refused.” 

Brock frowned. “Why?” 

“Because I love you. Being a vampire isn’t… It’s not as great as it might appear on the outside.” 

“Knowing I’ll be with you will make everything else worth it.” Brock sounded so _certain_ . 

Jack inhaled deeply and rather than harp on something that Brock was clearly not receptive to, he kissed him instead. 

The sun set behind them, Jack getting bold enough to stroke the tattoo that would vanish and the rest of his exposed skin. He kept his touch as chaste as possible — no reason to torture the both of them — hoping that he could distract him into exhaustion. But as the shadows reached towards them and Brock drew back to catch his breath a mischievous glint entered his eyes. “It’s nighttime,” he pointed out. 

Jack’s disappointment was sharp and heavy. “It is,” he agreed sullenly. 

“What should I wear?” 

“What you’re wearing is fine.” 

Brock glared at him. “I’m not going to show up in _chinos_ , Jack. They’ll think I’m some prep.” 

“Clint’s wardrobe is the same he’s had since he was a human, they won’t care,” Jack called as Brock went back to his room. 

“I care. First impressions are important.” Jack heard the rustle of him pushing clothes around in the closet. “Do you think jeans are too informal?” 

He was meeting a household of vampires and he was worried about what to wear? For a moment Jack was glad to have an eternity to understand the inner-workings of Brock. Quickly he was disgusted with himself for actually anticipating doing something so horrendous. Necessary or not it was still a monstrous thing to do. Brock finally emerged after tossing several articles of clothing on the bed, the whisper of the fabric against the comforter clear as a bell. He was wearing a pair of acid washed jeans that hugged him in all right places and a heathered gray tee. The v-neck was a comical choice, exposing his collarbones and enticing throat. It was a fearless choice and Jack felt strangely jealous that others would see them. 

“You couldn’t choose a better shirt?” he asked dryly. 

Truthfully it looked excellent on him. The sleeves hugged his biceps and clung to his slender form. Brock blinked, looking down at it. “What’s wrong with it?” 

Jack sighed heavily. “Nothing, I suppose it’ll do.” 

“I’ll change if you want.” 

“Maybe into something that covers your neck a bit.” Jack suggested tightly. 

“Oh.” It seemed to hit Brock at all once and he flushed. “Sorry, yeah, that’s a good idea. Dumb idea.” 

It was a good fashion choice, just a bad idea for meeting those who sustained solely on blood. Brock came back in a black turtleneck which was just as pleasing to the eye, accentuating his muscle mass and fit form. “Better?” 

“Infinitely.” 

Brock smiled. He put on his sneakers and they were soon in the back of a cab on the way to the ferry. Brock finally seemed to show signs of nervousness, the subtle shift of his scent exposing him as well as his rigid posture. Jack capitalized on that with a, “We don’t have to do this, you know. We could go back to your place and finish up where we left of.” 

The temptation was there for the both of them but Brock proved to be stronger than his human urges. “No, I want to meet your roommates. Now stop trying to scare me off.” 

Jack sighed in defeat. “Can’t blame me for trying.” 

“Well it’s not going to work.” 

If only it would. The ferry felt unbearable fast, Brock tapping his foot anxiously. Jack was just bursting to ask if he wanted to back out but he knew the answer. Brock was too brave for his own good. The ferry docked and Brock reached for his hand, entwining their fingers. Jack called for another cab. The walk was nothing for him but for Brock it would be draining his human eyes couldn’t see well in the dark. 

“What if they don’t like me?” 

“They’ll love you.” Jack replied promptly.

At least, he thought they would. They hadn’t been rebelling against the idea of him meeting them. That seemed like acceptance enough. Jack wasn’t going to share his uncertainty with Brock however. The cab pulled up in front of the brownstone and the lights were on for Brock’s sake. Typically they shut them off at eight o’clock sharp, a very human time to settle into a nightly routine. The windows offered warm light, welcoming. They stood in front of the steps, Brock preparing himself, giving Jack’s unyielding hand a squeeze as he drew a deep breath. 

“You know — ” Jack began and Brock turned to glare at him. “Fine, fine. Sorry.” 

“I’m ready.” he said after drawing in a deep breath. 

They ascended the steps and Jack opened the door. At the end of the hallway was the kitchen where Natasha, Clint, Bucky and Steve stood. There was tension in the air, them traversing in unfamiliar territory. Natasha hadn’t introduced Clint until after he’d been turned. Brock swallowed loudly as they stopped in front of them. 

“This is Brock,” Jack announced, wary of what would come next.

“Brock,” Natasha said, a smile blooming across her face. “It’s lovely to see you again.” 

“You too,” he managed. 

Clint stepped forward and Jack instinctively did the same thing. The blond ignored him, thrusting a hand out in a very human fashion. “Clint Barton. Nice to meet you.” 

Brock took the offered hand and Jack feared Clint wouldn’t adjust his strength and they shook hands. But Brock’s hand was released intact, undamaged. Bucky offered a curt nod. “I’m Bucky, this is Steve.” 

The burly man stepped forward with his disarming smile. Brock’s shoulders dropped a bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Brock. We’ve heard so much about you.” 

Thankfully they left out that what they’d heard about him was mostly centered around his death. Jack rested his hand on the small of Brock’s back. “Good things, I hope.” 

Steve just smiled and stepped back into place beside Steve. “I went to the store,” Natasha announced sounding awfully pleased with herself. “I bought a case of beer for you. Bud Lite.” 

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I prefer to be a gracious host.” She flashed to the fridge and there was a clink of glass before she was in front of Brock holding out a frosty bottle. She’d moved too fast for Brock’s human eyes and he drew back instinctively. Jack directed a scorning look at her and she smiled apologetically. “I see Jack hasn’t desensitized you to our…abilities.” 

Brock took the bottle and cracked it open. Natasha took the cap and flicked it into the trash can behind her without so much as a glance that way. “Not quite,” he mumbled. 

“It’ll be nice to not be the youngest one around,” Clint announced. “But being a vampire is awesome, you’re going to love it.” 

Jack should have known Clint would bring it up right away. Of course he was excited to no longer be considered the biggest liability. “Jack seems to think the opposite,” Brock said slowly. 

“Jack is, what we call, a grumpy old man.” Clint retorted. “And also incredibly lonely. Forever is a lot better when you’ve got someone at your side.” 

Brock glanced at Jack who glared at Clint. The young vampire ignored the look, approaching Borck. “So when are you going to do it?” 

“I-I don’t know,” he admitted, turning to look at Jack. 

“We haven’t set a date.” Jack didn’t want to talk about turning Brock tonight but he should have expected that it would have been the hot topic. They cared little about him as a human, they would be more interested in him when he was white and flawless. “How about we move this to the living room.” 

“Oh right, humans don’t like standing for too long,” Clint said as if he had only just remembered. So young and already his memories of being human were fading. 

In a way it was sad. While Clint could easily be a pest in this meeting he had the most in common with Brock, had the most knowledge in what Brock would need and think and _feel._ All Jack had were assumptions based on their limited time together and those weren’t always correct. Brock sunk down on the couch and Jack did so as well to make him comfortable. The others did the same thing, awkwardly emulating human motions, slow and careful. 

“Tell me about yourself,” Steve prodded politely. “What do you like to do?” 

“I like to work out, boxing mostly.” Brock shrugged. “Boring stuff compared to what you guys do.” 

“Most of what we do is hiding,” Bucky said with a frown. “I hope you understand that.” 

“I know people can’t know you exist.” Brock said quickly. “Besides, who’d believe me if I said you did?” 

Bucky nodded stiffly. “Besides…hiding,” Brock glanced around. “What else do you do? I know Natasha is a pharmacist.” 

“Oh you told him about me.” Natasha looked surprisingly pleased. Jack would have expected annoyance or anger at divulging personal information about her. She wasn’t naturally forthcoming about details in her life, present and past. “Steve here is a nurse.” 

“A nurse? Doesn’t that you mean you work around,” Brock dropped his voice as if he feared someone listening in. “ _blood_ ?” 

“It does.” Steve nodded. “I’ve in triage for a very long time. I’m used to being around blood.” 

Brock nodded his head looking impressed, exactly as he should — Steve’s self control when it came to blood and feeding was incredibly impressive. “Bucky works in animal medicine,” Steve said with a nod in his direction. 

Brock looked at Jack. “You never told me what you usually do,” he said, tone a bit accusatory. 

“Medical examiner. There aren’t any night shifts open at the moment, hence me being jobless.” 

Jack found it too boring to disclose earlier but seeing as Brock was asking. “Dead bodies?” 

“I’ve got experience.” Jack reminded him dryly. 

Brock took another drink of his beer, successfully hiding his reaction to Jack’s morbid joke. “Well,” Natasha said. “It was a pleasure to see you again — and I know we’ll be seeing plenty of each other in the future,” a pointed look in Jack’s direction. “So I’ll leave you two to your own devices. Feel free to show him around, Jack. Get him acquainted with his new home.” 

_His new home_ . It was as thrilling as it was infuriating. The joy of having Brock forever was overshadowed by the means in which it would happen. In seconds the living room was empty and Brock choked on his beer at the sudden emptiness. Jack grit his teeth at their lack of accommodation for him. “Sorry.” 

Brock coughed. “It’s okay. I should get used to it.” 

Jack didn’t confirm nor deny and stood up, offering his hand. Brock took it and hand in hand he led him out of the living room into the kitchen and all of its prop pieces. He pointed out the downstairs bathroom and Natasha and Clint’s room before they climbed the steps. They walked down the hallway, Jack pointing out Steve and Bucky’s room and bathroom before they arrived in front of his door. He opened the door and gestured for Brock to enter. The wall had been repaired and the plaster swept up. A fresh coat of paint had been slapped over the mudding and it looked as though it had never happened. Brock stepped inside looking at floor to ceiling shelves packed with books and movies, marveling at the TV mounted to the wall opposite the beige sofa. 

“Wow.” 

“It’s not much,” Jack said. “But it’s enough for me.” 

“It’s perfect.” Brock argued. He gave the room a 360, taking it all in. “You must really like reading.” 

“It fills the time.” 

Brock frowned. “It’s a lot of time to fill, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” Maybe now Brock would understand the gravity of what his fate was. 

“Time to spend with you,” Brock said, an easy smile drifting across his face as a far away look entered his eyes, romanticizing a future he didn’t understand. “I can’t wait.” 

“You don’t understand,” Jack said frustrated. 

“Don’t tell me what I want, Jack.” Brock said, anger tainting his voice. “Don’t you get that I’m willing to do anything to be with you? I fucking love you, Jack.” 

“And I love you. That’s why it hurts me to know that I have to turn you,” Jack said, voice rough with emotion. 

“Well, tough shit, I guess.” He plopped down on the couch and crossed his arms. “I know you’re dragging your feet on this. I’d rather get it over with, personally.” 

Jack hadn’t considered how drawing it out had affected Brock. This daunting, life altering event hovering on the horizon at some unknown time. Jack frowned at his blatant misstep, balking at how inconsiderate he’d been in that regard. “I suppose it would be polite to set a date.” 

“It would be nice to know when to put in my two weeks.” 

“How about you put it in on Monday.” It killed Jack to say, tore him up more than anything ever had. 

Brock gulped. “Does it hurt?”

“Worse than anything you’ll experience in your life.” 

Another loud swallow. “Oh.” 

It would kill him to put Brock through it but there was no way around it. “If there was a way around it — ”

“I know,” Brock interrupted. He took a deep breath and steeled his expression. “I’d go through hell and back for you.” 

Hell. Was that what being a vampire was? “I know you would.” And Jack would do the same thing. 

Jack settled down beside him and took his hand. 

They left at ten thirty as Brock had work in the morning and Jack was adamant that he get proper rest. Clint caught them at the door and Jack’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Hey Brock? Can you do me a favor?” 

“Me? Sure.” 

“Eat some pizza for me.” A sad look entered his eyes. “With ham and pineapples on it.” 

Brock’s honey eyes betrayed the pity he felt but Clint didn’t cringe away from it the way Jack would have. “Yeah, I’ll do that.” 

“Thanks.” 

And in a blur, he was gone. Brock blinked but didn’t react otherwise. He was adjusting. In the cab and on the ferry Brock’s hand never left his and his head rested on his bicep. Back in 306 Jack waited patiently in the living room while he showered. Brock emerged with a towel slung over his hips and Jack was rendered speechless. Tiny water droplets clung to his skin, his hair was wet and pushed back, a droplet trailing down his temple, some water pooled in the hollow of his throat. Jack had seen this much of Brock already but that didn’t make the sight any less brilliant. His abdomen was sculpted into ridges and his pecs solid with muscle. Jack wanted to lick the water from his skin, wanted to feel his skin so hot and soft beneath his touch. 

He stayed rooted where he was and looked away. He couldn’t trust himself when Brock was still so fragile. Brock went to his room and dressed in sweats and a tee shirt. Jack had noted the temperature drop outside and immediately went to the thermostat to adjust it. He didn’t want Brock in any form of discomfort. Brock emerged drying his hair. “It’s late.” 

Brock rolled his eyes. “You’re relentless.” 

“You need proper rest.” 

“Sleep is for the weak.” 

“I can assure you that humans are incredibly weak so they certainly need their sleep.” 

With a scowl Brock slung the towel over the straight back chair in the kitchen. Jack realized in horror that he hadn’t eaten. “Oh God, Brock. I’m so sorry.” 

He pulled a low calorie TV dinner from the freezer. 

“You don’t eat, why would you remember?” he popped it in and leaned against the counter trying to disguise as yawn as a sigh. 

“I tried to tell you to go to bed without eating,” Jack reminded him, an unforgivable mistake. 

“And I didn’t listen. Believe it or not I have a brain of my own. It might not always function properly when I’m around you but hunger is not something I ignore.” 

The microwave hummed and the revolting smell of cooking food filled the apartment. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Brock rolled his eyes. “You’re forgiven.” 

The appliance beeped and Jack watched as Brock ate and then watched his silverware, putting it away. He frowned suddenly. “I won’t be able to afford the rest of my lease if I don’t have a job.” 

“I’ll pay for it.” 

With a look of indignation Brock turned, ready to protest and Jack held up a hand. “It’s out of your control. Besides, I’ve accumulated plenty of money in my years. It’s a small expense in that regard.” 

Brock huffed, defeated by the fact he didn’t really have any other option. He certainly didn’t look pleased about it but he offer anymore objections. Jack reminded him that he needed to sleep and, dragging his feet, he brushed his teeth. He paused in the bathroom doorway and looked at Jack. 

“Will you lay down with me?” 

“Would you like me to?” 

“Yes.” 

Jack was ecstatic to do so and followed Brock to his bedroom. It was strange to lie down — Jack didn’t do so often — but being at Brock's side felt so very right. He nestled close, head on his chest. Jack put an around him, pulling him close. He drew in a breath. Brock’s scent had mingled with soap and shampoo with the sharp twang of mint on breath. Brock tilted his head up to look at Jack. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” 

Jack kissed his hairline and Brock scowled. “If we start kissing, I’m afraid we won’t stop and it’s nearly midnight. Sleep, Brock.” 

“You’re getting awfully bossy,” he complained, but settled down. 

“Someone has to keep you in line,” Jack teased. 

Brock huffed. They laid together in silence and it didn’t take long for Brock to fall asleep, more tired than he wanted to let on. Jack found he liked to have his warm body sprawled on him. As he slept he stroked his hair and counted his heartbeats. He did everything he could do to avoid thinking about two weeks from Monday. 

  * • •• •• ••



Those two weeks passed in a flurry. Brock indulged in all the human things he would be losing. He got drunk, he ate his favorite foods and boxed until he was exhausted. Jack promised to learn so he could indulge him once he was turned. 

They caught the evening premier of an action movie that Brock had wanted to see and spent the time holding hands. Brock inhaled a bag of popcorn — his very last time eating it. They walked back to Brock’s apartment, hands entwined. “I’m gonna miss this place,” Brock announced as they stepped into apartment 306. 

Jack wished could offer for them to stay there instead of the brownstone but Manhattan was too good of a hunting ground to live in. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault.” Brock paused, clearly hearing the problem with that response. “It’ll be better living with your friends anyway.” 

“They’ll become your friends too.” 

“I don’t know if they liked me much.” 

“They’re anxious to have you turned,” Jack argued. “You’re a bit of a…liability in their eyes.” 

“Because of the forces?” 

“Because of the forces,” Jack agreed. “It’s not just your life in danger. Is theirs too.” 

Brock’s eyes widened in horror as he hissed, “You didn’t tell me that!” 

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “It didn’t seem…necessary.” 

“Necessary? You had me meet a bunch of people who might have died because of me.” 

“You’re going to be turned,” Jack said bitterly. “There’s no danger after that.” 

“You shouldn’t have put it off so long,” Brock said scoldingly. “My life isn’t worth that much.” 

“Don’t you understand? I value your life over everything and every _one_ to a fault.” Jack shook his head. “I don’t know how to get you to understand how I feel about you.” 

It was Brock’s turn to shake his head. “I’m not more important than anyone else.” 

Jack disagreed but he held his tongue. He spent the night there, Brock sleeping on his chest, routine at this point. It was another night down. Jack hoped Brock was enjoying every night of it while he still could.

On his final night as a human he ordered pizza. A medium pizza with ham and pineapple for Clint. Jack was taken by his kindness. He took a bite and directed an inquisitive look at Jack. “You have a question.” 

Jack had gotten good at reading Brock. He’d peppered him with all kinds of questions about his turning. How long it would take, how painful ‘painful’ meant, what it was like to not have blood or a heartbeat. “Yeah,” he took another bite chewing thoughtfully. He washed it down with a drink of Coors (not Lite, he indulged in his limited days). “How did you eat on our dates?” 

Jack grimaced. “I did so because I had to. If I didn’t you would have noticed and asked questions that I couldn’t answer.” 

“Well what happens to the food?” 

“I cough it back up later.” Brock’s nose crinkled. “You asked.” 

Apparently not put off his meal, he took another bite. “Will you finally tell me what blood tastes like? I mean, I’m going to be drinking it tomorrow. Or, er, when I’m done turning.” Brock knew it was not a quick process. “I think I deserve to know.” 

“It’s sweet to us,” Jack said after some hesitation. “But if the blood is tainted with drugs or alcohol the blood will taste different. Bitter, off.”

“I see.” Brock picked a pineapple off his slice of pizza and dropped it on the plate. 

“You asked.” 

“I know.” Brock scowled. He always got frustrated when he asked a question he didn’t like the answer to. “Don’t you have to go after people like that?” 

“We go after victims of opportunity,” Jack said carefully. “Night time wanderers. Wrong place, right time.” 

“Oh.” Brock flickered a look at him and then back to his plate. “When I’m new you said that I will be…out of control. I won’t hurt you, right?” 

“No. I meant rather…you’ll feel emotions strongly. You’ll lash out and your thirst will be hard to control. You won’t leave the house for a few months.” 

“ _Months?_ ” 

Jack nodded. “We’re in the city. You’ll get overwhelmed by the people and until you have control over your bloodlust you need to stay inside. For your safety and ours.” Jack leveled him a look. “The forces, remember?” 

“Who are these forces anyway?” 

“The Volturi. An ancient vampire counsel. They govern vampires. It’s best not to get on their radar.” 

Brock nodded his head and took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “What’s it like to crave blood?” 

“It’s like a burning.” 

“It’s painful?” 

“It can be.” 

“Is it… Are you thirsty around me?” 

Jack looked him in the eyes. “Always.” 

“Does it hurt you?” 

“Yes.” 

Startled, Brock reeled away. Jack frowned. “I won’t hurt you — ” he began. 

“I’m hurting _you_ ,” he said, eyes narrowed. “All this time and you’re only just now telling me?” 

“It’s worth it to be near you. It hurts me worse to be away from you.” Jack argued. He held his hand out to Brock. 

He looked at, distrusting, and eventually the ache to be with Jack won out and he returned to his side a bit tense. “I’ll be glad when I’m turned. At least then it won’t hurt you to be around me.” 

Brock didn’t understand that Jack would gladly suffer through the excruciating pain of being turned forever if meant protecting from the fate that awaited him and that broke Jack’s heart. 


	8. Chapter 8

When the day came Brock clasped his hand on the ferry. Jack had spared the gorey details of the turn. How his venom would infect his entire body and the like. At the brownstone he was met with an entourage, a somewhat warm reception of the housemates all eager to get it over with. To them it wasn’t as big of a deal but still general nervousness hung in the air and Brock was well aware of it. He tried to smile however and it was a noble effort. A normal human would have wilted under the stare of so many vampires. He didn’t so much as flinch. 

“Hey,” he greeted, a desperate attempt at staying casual. 

“Hello.” Natasha said. “You two are ready?” 

Jack scowled. “Don’t rush me.” 

She held her hands up. “Sorry, we’re all a bit…on edge about it as I’m sure you can understand.” 

There was no way they were more on edge than Jack currently felt. Ignoring the rest of them entirely he took Brock’s hand and led him upstairs to his room. They walked slowly, both putting off the inevitable. Brock out of fear and Jack out of dread. 

His heart had been racing since they got in the cab and even now it was pounding. Oh how Jack would miss that sound. He let go of Brock’s hand and cradled his face, staring into his beautiful honey eyes for the last time. He kissed his lips, warm and soft and drew back to see fear and determination battling in Brock’s eyes. 

“Are you ready?” 

“Yes.” 

Jack stroked the curve of his throat with a long slender finger and leaned in. He took one last whiff of his scent, pressed his lips against the artery and felt it throbbing beneath his lips for the final time, and bit down. Brock made a choking sound and his knees gave out immediately. Blood flowed into his mouth as he caught him. The sweetest thing he’d ever tasted as his throat seared, demanding more and more. Jack groaned in ecstasy at the flavor and, grasping desperately for control, pulled away. He rested Brock on the couch, his body seizing and trembling as the venom began to infect his body. His taste still lingered on his tongue, the burn urging him to feed until the burn was extinguished. He grit his teeth and took his wrist, biting down. The more venom the quicker the turn. Once his wrists bore his teeth marks and Brock was trembling, Jack left. 

He couldn’t bear to watch him suffer while he was powerless. 

Everyone was in the kitchen, the nervousness from earlier still present. “It’ll be a few days,” Natasha reported. “But you need to feed.” 

“I won’t leave him alone.” 

“You won’t be able to resist him the entire time if you don’t, especially after tasting his blood.” Natasha reminded him firmly. “Go hunt. I’ll look over Brock.” 

The fact she was right rubbed him raw and he grit his teeth. He left like a sulking teenager though he was careful with the hunt. The streets were empty to his dismay and every step away from the brownstone was torture. Hunting too close to home was dangerous within itself. Finally he found a drunk woman walking home. He pulled her to shadows and downed her alcohol soured blood with distaste. To his dismay his throat still burned for Brock. It wasn’t enough. He dragged the body to the Lower Bay and hid it beneath a rock. He emerged sopping wet and noticed movement on the docks. He took down the late night wanderer quickly, blood clean but bitter into comparison to the taste he’d gotten of Brock’s blood. He felt too full when he was done but the burn had been reduced to a weak flickering flame. It was the best he’d get until Brock was turned. 

He moved too fast home but at the hour he highly doubted anyone would be peeking out their windows. He breezed into the house, the group still accumulated in the kitchen. They seemed to be discussing something but they stopped at his arrival. Immediately put on edge Jack froze. He knew Brock was safe, albeit suffering upstairs, his scent in the air and the sound of his heart thumping in his ears. “What?” 

“We were scheduling hunting.” 

“Hunting?” 

“Bringing a newborn hunting with you is a headache to say the least. Trust me, I tried it with Clint. We have a few slip ups and it’s best to avoid those. It’s easy to clean up in a rural area but a slip up around here would be disastrous. So we’ll bring a body every other night for him to feed on.” Natasha announced. 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.” Jack was taken aback by their friendliness; last he knew they were still upset with him for putting their lives in danger in the beginning. 

“You’re not asking, we’re offering. Besides should he get riled up you’ll be the only one to calm him. None of us are equipped to hold down a newborn. Clint’s young but he’s not as strong as Brock will be when he wakes up.” The blond sulked at that. “Go be with him. We’ll handle the rest.” 

Jack headed to the stairs, heart swelling with gratitude. He turned at the base of the stairs and looked at them. “Thank you.” 

Bucky smiled. “This is what family’s for,” he reminded him. 

Jack returned the smile and then went to the room where he watched over Brock. 

He watched for two days. Unmoving, unblinking, unbreathing. He watched with an ache in his chest as his skin lost its pigment turning pearly white, watched all the human flaws smoothed out nothing, righting every small imperfection. He was utterly gorgeous, just as he had been before but simply in a different way. He listened to his heart beat slow, his blood pressure drop, his breathing decrease. He watched as Brock died.

When Brock began to moan, showing signs of rising Jack took his limp hand in his and waited, desperate and impatient, for him to rise. The hand closed over his hard and Jack cringed at the pain. 

“Jack…” his voice was smooth as velvet. 

“I’m right here, Brock. I’m right here, baby,” he assured him. 

“Jack,” he murmured again in his new voice. 

As much as Jack would miss his old voice, this new one was just as appealing. There was nothing that could change how he felt about him. Physical or otherwise. It took another day for him to come out of his daze and when he did, he sat up in a flash, looking around wildly. 

“Hey,” Jack said soothingly, rubbing the back of his hand. Brock’s hold tightened and Jack cringed. 

“Jack,” he gasped. “It’s all… Everything is so _different_ .” 

While his human memories were weak and faded he remembered his awakening as a newborn perfectly. He knew how overwhelming it was, how strange even the mundane seemed. The heightening of senses was overwhelming. The hold tightened further and Jack finally spoke up. “You’ll have to let up on my hand a bit, you’re stronger than I am.” 

Brock whipped his head around to look at him, tucking his arms to his side. He stared at Jack, jaw slightly ajar. “What?” 

“You...You’re so _beautiful._ I thought…I thought I knew that before but…” he paused shaking his head. “And my _voice_ …” 

“I know it’s a lot.” Jack reached up to brush his fingers through his glossy chestnut hair. It had a new sheen to it, healthy and thick. “Take your time to adjust.” 

For a while all Brock did was look around. He stared at the ceiling, at the air, at his arms and at Jack. It was his first time seeing it all and it was a treat to see such raw wonder on his face. Jack missed his eyes though. They were aggressively red and so very different from what they had been. He’d adjust though, Brock was still the pinnacle of perfection in his eyes and now in everyone else's as well. 

“It’s like I was blind before,” he said staring around the room. “I can see _everything_ .” 

“Have you tried breathing?” Jack asked with a smile. 

Brock’s lovely scent had remained much to Jack’s shock. It no longer ignited his thirst, it was just incredibly pleasing. “Oh God I wasn't breathing,” Brock realized. He dragged in a breath and frowned. “It feels so strange but I can smell so much…” 

He trailed off and his body tensed. “You’re thirsty,” Jack supplied. “There’s a body here for you -- do you want to wait here…” 

Brock drew in a deep breath through his nose, scenting the air. “That sweet smell -- that’s the body?” 

“You’re smelling their blood.” 

“I want it.” Brock said with stern certainty. 

“I know you do. Come on.” Maybe Jack was showboating a bit but he wanted to show off Brock. 

Everyone was in the kitchen, a warm body resting against the fridge, bone jutting out at the neck. Brock lowered his body slightly as came down the steps, eyes sweeping from one person to the next as if he was worried they would spring. 

“You’re one of us!” Clint said cheerfully. “C’mon, have a celebratory drink.” 

At the mention of a drink Brock was across the room teeth sinking into the body’s throat. The others gave him plenty of space to feed, unwilling to accidentally spark him to defend his meal. They crowded around the staircase base where Jack stood, watching. He held a bit of sadness in his heart seeing his Brock like this. 

“He sure is pretty,” Natasha commented. Clint made a hurt noise and she hushed him. “Not as pretty as you, darling.” 

“He’s perfect.” Jack agreed. 

Brock sat back with a sigh, body drained. He turned to look at Jack, tongue sweeping to catch a bead of blood running from the corner of his mouth. “Better?” 

“Yes.” Brock said, straightening up. “Is there more?” 

“Insatiable,” Natasha said fondly. “I’ll go see what I can scrounge up for you.” 

Brock perked up at that. “Thank you.” 

While they were gone Steve and Bucky approached Brock. It was done with due hesitance but Brock didn’t seem threatened by them. He was too busy staring. “How are you feeling?” Steve asked anxiously. 

“Overwhelmed. Hung-thirsty?” He looked to Jack for confirmation that his vocabulary was correct. With time he would sink into his new life and there would be no more human terms that would apply to him. Jack nodded. “Everything is so much _clearer_ . It’s like I was deaf and blind before.” 

“You adjust,” Steve contributed. “I know it seems like a lot now but before long it’ll be second nature to you.” 

“I don’t even sound like me. I can’t even begin to imagine what I _look_ like.” 

Oh, Jack hadn’t even thought about putting him in front of a mirror. Getting blood in him had felt more pressing. “Come with me.” Jack held out his hand. “I’ll show you.” 

Brock took the offered hand and he moved faster than Jack, nearly tripping him up for the first time his second life. Jack steadied himself with ease and Brock froze where he was, face marred with regret. “Jack I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay Brock. You’re a little faster than I am at the moment.” 

“I’ll remember to go slower,” he promised. 

Jack could only laugh. Brock smiled. “Your laugh was amazing before but hearing it now… It’s like I had no idea how beautiful it was.” 

“You should hear yourself.” 

“I don’t really sound like me,” Brock replied. 

“And I didn’t always sound like this.” Jack walked around him and took his hand. “C’mon.” 

Brock trailed along obediently into the bathroom where Jack finally put him in front of a mirror. Brock gawked at his own reflection. He’d lost the olive hue, skin pale and chalky with a pearly glow to it. His facial features were refined and perfected, like a high definition version of the perfection that he’d had when he was human. And then there was of course his eyes, vividly crimson. Brock raised his hand to touch his face, trailing his fingers down his face as if to ensure that it was really him. 

“I can’t believe this is really me.” he finally said softly.

“You’re just as perfect as you were before.” 

Brock glared at him. “Are you kidding me? I was the ugliest thing in the world compared to _this_ .” 

“I disagree.” 

A look of hurt crossed his face. “You don’t like how I look now?” 

“No, no,” Jack said quickly. “I’d love you regardless of how you look, Brock. It just so happens you’re wildly attractive in both human and vampire form.” 

A hesitant smile curved his perfect pouty lips. “Oh, really?” 

“Yes, really.” 

Brock spun around and threw his arms around his neck. Jack tensed up a bit, danger instincts flashing before he remembered that this was _Brock_ and he was plenty safe. Their lips careened together, harsher and more passionate than they’d ever shared. It was raw and everything that Jack had secretly dreamed it to be. Emotions that he’d shoved down for the sake and safety of Brock was spilling over as his back bumped into the wall hard enough to crack the tiles. The sweet taste of blood still clung to his tongue and Jack felt dick started to stiffen. 

“Brock,” he said, when they broke apart. “Are you sure — ”

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything else,” he said, red eyes smoldering with desire. 

Jack was powerless to refuse. All he could was let Brock pull him to his room. He was thrown into the sofa which skidded back a few inches. Brock was on him in seconds, knees on either side of him as he caught his lips again in another deliciously rough kiss. Jack was happy to sit back and let Brock do as he pleased. He owed him that much and, honestly, he was suffering in the slightest. Brock growled lowly as pawed at his chest only to find it sheathed in fabric. He tore it with the ease of tissue paper and leaned down to kiss his throat. Again that defensive urge reared up in him — a newborn near his throat could easily spell disaster — but all it took was an inhale of his scent to remind his body that this was _Brock_ and that no harm was going to befall him at his hands, newborn or not.

His kisses were hurried, pent up emotion spilling over in the dramatic fashion that was a common characteristic of newborns and all Jack could do was sit back and let it happen. When Brock grew tired of exploring the planes of his chest and abdomen his hand drifted lowered, popping the button off his jeans which lodged into the wall in the opposite wall from the force of the pull. The zipper was torn apart and they split a bit. It wasn’t much but it was enough to get Jack’s aching cock out. Brock’s pants and underwear were in a pile in a second and he was kneeling in front of Jack. Again that worry welled up but was chased by the familiar sight of Brock as he took his cock in his mouth. His tongue was warm and hot with venom. Jack tipped his head back at the wet warmth and groaned. How long had it been? Too long. But it had all been to prepare him for Brock, to ready him for the love of his life to come trapezing in like he had always been there. 

With a wet sucking sound Brock let his cock fall from his lips. Jack cracked open his eyes and watched him stick his index and middle finger into his mouth. “Let me — ”

“No.” Brock snapped. 

Jack held his hands up in defeat. Brock worked himself open quickly and got back into position kneeling over his lap. He took Jack’s heavy cock in one hand and lowered himself on it with a deep lusty groan. His eyes drifted shut the way he had the first time Jack had kissed him. This time there were no veins to trace in his eyelids. But it was hard to feel anything but pleasure as his cock was engulfed into tight heat. 

“Fuck,” hissed Brock. 

He rocked his hips and groaned. Jack was desperate to do something with his hands so he rested them on Brock’s hips, trying and failing to find a rhythm to feed himself into. Brock’s movements were unpredictable in a very newborn fashion, so all Jack could do was hang on and enjoy the ride. Brock barked out curses as he rode him, the sofa creaking dangerously at the force of the thrusts; Brock placed his hands on his chest, pushing down as he thrusted. The back of the sofa snapped and the back legs snapped off sending them sliding to the floor. Brock didn’t seem not to notice, gyrating his hips head tilted to the ceiling as he let out breathless groans. 

Brock worked himself up to orgasm, Jack following up shortly afterward. He spilled over Jack’s stomach with a shout and Jack followed up with a rasping groan as he came inside Brock. Brock froze and stared down at Jack. “I’m not tired.” 

“Side effect,” Jack querked with a smile. 

He suddenly noticed they were on the floor and his face drew up in horror. “Oh god, we broke your sofa. I’m sorry, Jack.” 

Jack laughed. “It was well worth it.”

Brock dragged his fingers through his hair despite not having a single hair out of place and smiled sheepishly at Jack. “Sorry about being so…demanding.” 

“I didn’t mind.” Jack propped himself up on his elbows and kissed Brock. “I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time now.” 

Brock smiled. “Me too.”

His red eyes glowed post orgasm and he stood up, wiping away semen with the tattered remains of Jack’s shirt which he apologized for again. Jack assured him he had plenty of shirts and frankly he would have given up his entire wardrobe for a second of what he’d just experienced. Jack retrieved the button from where it was wedged in the drywall and tossed it in the air. It caught Brock’s eye and he probably would have blushed, had he been able to. He simply averted his eyes, dressing. He had just buttoned his jeans when the sound of Clint and Natasha’s approaching feet reached their ears. 

Brock looked up hopefully, clearly looking to satisfy his hunt. “Let’s go see who they brought you,” Jack suggested. 

Brock took his hand and the two of them descended the steps. Clint had a sizable man on his shoulder that he unloaded with a theatrical and unnecessary sigh, as though the weight had even affected him. 

“Dinner is served.” Clint announced.

Brock was on him in a second. Like the first time they gave him plenty of space to feed. 

“How’s he getting along?” Natasha asked. 

“Just fine by the sound of it,” Bucky said bitterly. 

“Now you know how I felt,” Jack replied, feeling a bit smug. 

He shuddered dramatically and Steve nudged him. “Ignore him, he’s being immature. Sex is normal.” 

If Brock had been paying attention he probably would have been mortified. Thankfully he was too preoccupied obeying the force that ruled all their lives. Thinking of it that way dampened Jack’s spirit so he tried to focus on the humor of the situation. Finally he could pay Steve and Bucky back for their obnoxiously loud sex with some of his own. Natasha and Clint had the decency to keep it to a reasonable level. 

“Didn’t take you long to jump his bones,” Clint said with a grin. 

“ _He_ wasn’t the one doing the jumping,” Bucky reported bitterly. “Broke the couch already.” 

“Probably time to invest in a bed,” Natasha said thoughtfully. “We should buy you two one. A newborn gift.” 

Jack was quickly growing tired of talking about him having sex. “Okay, okay.” he said, but they weren’t done. 

“Beds are breakable, trust me, I know.” Bucky offered a rare grin. “You’re better off with a mattress on the floor. I’ve found boxsprings to be just as fragile as bed frames.” 

“Ugh,” Jack said in disgust. “Enough.” 

Brock drained the second body and sat back on his haunches with a sigh of relief. He turned his head to Jack. “The burning’s gone away.” 

“Good.” Jack couldn’t stand the thought of Brock suffering. 

When Natasha and Clint were gone again Jack brought Brock to the living room. He was still looking around, taking in everything. “I feel even stronger than I did before.” 

“That’s the effect blood has on us.” 

“Wow.” He zipped over the window and pushed aside the curtain to stairs outside. “God I can see scratches on the surface of the glass all the way across the street.” 

“You’ll be able to see for miles once you’re in an open space.” Jack felt bad that he’d been turned in the city where he’d spend so much time cooped up. Perhaps he could bring him to Seaside in the dead of night. It was rare that humans were there after dark, it was relatively safe. “Maybe I can bring you out sometime.” 

“Really?” He was in front of Jack in half a second. “I thought you said months.” 

“I know,” he said carefully, slowly. He should have enforced that but the idea of corralling his soul into a three bedroom house felt cruel. “It depends on how in control you are.” 

“Am I in control now?” Brock asked, red eyes hesitant. 

“So far you’re doing exceptionally well.” 

Brock smiled, flashing his perfectly white teeth. Jack was immediately dazzled. “I’m trying to stay on my best behavior for you,” Brock informed him. 

Jack was certain if that was a joke or a confession but either was he was pleased. Brock’s humanity hadn’t been sapped away in the way he’d feared. He was still _Brock_ just in a different form. An immortal form that would stay by his side forever. 

“You’re doing a very good job.” 

Brock placed a hand on his chest and kissed him. It was different to not feel his lips molding around his, instead holding their shape as they moved their mouths together. It didn’t take long for the kiss to get heated, Brock running on a blood high once more. Jack imagined with his heightened senses that sex was vastly different from him as a vampire than it had been when he was a human. Jack certainly wasn’t going to complain about it. Brock reached up to tear off Jack’s shirt and he caught his wrist. Brock could have easily overpowered him but he didn’t. He paused, head cocked slightly in confusion at the interruption. 

“I’d like to keep a few shirts,” Jack mused. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Brock took a step back. “I got caught up.” 

“Let’s take this upstairs.” Jack suggested. He was eager to explore his new body. 

They were upstairs in a flash, the door slammed shut by Brock with enough force to make it tremble dangerously in the frame. Brock snuck a look at Jack. “Oops.” 

“You’ll get used to it.” 

Jack hadn’t forgotten about the broken couch but Brock didn’t seem to mind lunging towards Jack. 

This time they undressed without the fevered urgency as the first time. Brock seemed to have gained a bit more control already, clothes tossed to the floor. The spilled out onto it, Brock less demanding. He allowed Jack to kiss him. His throat still felt warm though no pulse throbbed beneath his lips. He’d adjust to that though for the time being it was perturbing. He was so smooth, his pearly skin gleaming in the overhead light. His red eyes were bright and focused on him as Jack’s mouth traveled from his throat to his collar bones, sculpted just as perfectly as they had been before but highlighted by his turning. He trailed his tongue along them, inhaling his scent. 

Brock was getting impatient, shifting ever so slightly beneath him trying to urge him to go faster. Jack didn’t indulge that particular desire. It was his turn to take, to explore Brock’s new body and get familiar with it. One he’d traced his collarbones he placed soft kisses down his sternum, then to the side to the swell of his pectorals. His nipple stood there, a pale firm pebble, and Jack wrapped his lips around, flicking his tongue over its tip. Brock made a low noise, almost a purr, and Jack made his way slowly to the opposite pec, seizing his nipple and copying the motion. Brock’s hands came up to grip his shoulders, pushing downward insistently. 

“Let me enjoy you,” Jack pled, lifting his head to look at Brock. 

His features were sharp with desire, eyes blazing with arousal. He was a newborn though, his emotions were sharp and it was easy for them to take over. But to his surprise Brock showed remarkable control, inclining his head. “Okay,” he breathed. 

Jack smiled, triumphant, and kissed him on the lips before he returned to exploring his body. His abdomen was firm, the abs he’d had previously accentuated and perfectly toned. Jack ran his tongue along their ridges, tasting his skin. Brown sugar and cinnamon graced him, so perfectly sweet, and Jack wanted to savor it forever. He _had_ forever he realized. There was no time constraint on their time together. Unless, of course, Brock grew to resent Jack for his turning. Once the novelty of it wore off and the bleak realization set in. But forever wasn’t looking as haunting as it had before. Perhaps Clint had a point when he said that forever was better with the love of your life at your side. It felt less like a curse and more of a blessing. He could only hope Brock would feel the same way. 

Brock’s abs tapered off into a distinguished V that led to his pubic bone and his cock, perfectly straight, standing proud and erect. Precum had beaded at its tip and Jack lapped at it. Brock shuddered and his fingers dug into Jack’s shoulders. Encouraged Jack molded his lips around it’s mushroom tip, working his tongue over it’s sensitive head to hear Brock gasp and mewl. It was empowering to have such a strong creature beneath him and incredible to know it was his Brock. He took Brock to his root, head pressing into his throat shallowly. Rubbing his tongue on the underside of his cock he brought his fingers to Brock’s mouth. There was no risk of tearing him but any discomfort was intolerable in Jack’s opinion. 

Brock accepted it, sucking on them with a wet slurp that made Jack’s cock drool with a fresh spurt of precum. He was aching to be inside of Brock again, to feel that tight heat wrapped around his dick, glorious friction igniting his nerves in a way he’d never experienced even his previous sexual encounters. It was the effect Brock had on him. Everything was different with him, _clearer_ . With his fingers coated in venom he brought those fingers to Brock’s ass, nudging apart his cheeks and brushing over his puckered hole. He lightly tested pressure against his hole and it gave way with ease, body ready to accept Jack. It was a quick process, fingers inside him in seconds. 

“Fuck me,” Brock said, panting in desire, inhaling Jack’s scent the way Jack was inhaling his. It heightened the sensations, made it all more. “Please.” 

How could Jack refuse when he asked so kindly? He nudged Brock legs over his shoulders, lifting his ass from the floor and flush with Jack’s cock wish settled along the cleft of his ass. Just touching his skin was electrifying and threatened to tip him over the edge. One hand settled on Brock’s hip bone rubbing the pad of his thumb in circles, the other adjusting his cock until it rested on the lax rim of his hole. They groaned in unison when Jack sunk into him. He did so at a pace slow even for a human. His nerves sizzled and pleasure burst from his core. Brock’s fingers tightened again, not quite enough to be intolerably painful. Jack rutted against him, rocking his hips slowly at first then faster as he chased the delicious friction the tight heat provided. 

Brock groaned in time with his thrust, digging his fingers in pace with his thrusts. Jack’s pace began to grow erratic as he approached orgasm. Brock came first, ribbons of cum shooting over his abdomen and chest, a shout ripping from his throat. Jack’s hips stuttered and he cried out himself as he came. They stayed connected, staring at one another. Jack loved Brock so fiercely in that moment, even more so than he had already which, prior to that moment, he would have deemed impossible. 

“I would die for you,” he said softly. 

“And I would die for you,” Brock said in return. 

There was no doubt in those statements. The love between them was unconditional and ageless. They would love each other forevermore. 

Brock fed every day for three weeks and every other day for two. It wasn’t until he down to feeding every three that Jack hedged the idea of taking Brock to a park. 

“I say it’s fine. Anything to shut you two up,” Bucky said miserably. 

Jack felt for him. The time between feedings was typically spent having sex which often times wasn’t very quiet. It wasn’t intentional -- it embarrassed Brock to have it addressed and he looked away from the group looking ashamed. It hard to keep quiet when experiencing such moments of perfect gratification. 

“Do you think he’s ready?” Natasha asked.

“I think if he feeds first and we walk, it’ll be safe. Not many humans are out after one and if there is, I can handle clean up.” 

Natasha hummed thoughtful and then turned her red gaze on Brock. “Do _you_ think you’re ready?” 

“If Jack trusts me then I trust myself.” Brock said immediately. 

Jack feared he may have too much faith in him but in this case he was almost certain in his opinion in the matter. “Where are you thinking of taking him?” 

“To Seaside.” 

Natasha inclined her to that, still thoughtful. “I suppose it would be safe,” she said slowly. “But maybe we should come along. Just for safety.” 

“You and Clint maybe, Stave and I need a break from those two,” Bucky grumbled. 

“Sorry,” Brock said. 

“It’s _fine,_ ” Steve said quickly. “Stop being rude, Bucky.” 

The vampire just huffed in annoyance. “I’m down for Seaside. We can race,” Clint said nudging Brock. 

They two had taken to each other fairly well. When Brock was feeding and they weren't fucking he was getting to know their housemates. He had most in common with Clint who was actually from this era. They talked about things that simply blending hadn’t afforded knowledge of. They had similar taste in films -- no plots but a lot of noise -- and they liked to wrestle around though Clint always lost and demanded rematches despite Brock’s clear advantage. He wasn’t one to admit defeat however and that was a shining example of it. 

Brock looked eager at the escape and Jack didn’t blame him. While he hated to leave Brock, leaving the brownstone to hunt was a great relief to him. Before long Brock was stepping on the street for the first time in over a month. He inhaled deeply, scenting the air for threats automatically. Jack expected to be sickened by how quickly he’d adjusted to this second life but all he felt was pride that Brock was doing so well. He turned his attention to Jack, eyes sparkling with excitement. 

“Which way?” 


	9. Epilogue

The nature park was deserted at the early hour. It was just after two, a moonless night making it a perfect night for such activities. Even if there were transients in the area they wouldn’t be able to see well enough to notice them, assuming they slowed to a speed the human eye could see. It only took a second for Clint to nudge Brock and urge him to race him along the boardwalk. Brock looked over his shoulder for permission and Jack nodded his head. He was gone immediately, finally able to test out his new speed as he trailed behind Clint around the empty park. Jack hung back with Natasha walking along the wooden path through the marshy area. 

“You seem to be adjusting well.” 

“I thought it would be harder to adjust to this version of him,” Jack admitted. “Sometimes I hate myself for accepting it so easily.” 

“Brock is a natural. Fate brought you two together for a reason. His life led him up to this moment for a reason. So lay off yourself, alright? You’re just as powerless when it comes to Brock as I am when it comes to Clint.” She looked out at the water. “Are you going to stay with us?” 

Jack was taken aback by the question. He’d only recently thought about striking out on his own with Brock for a few decades, to spend time together as a new couple. How she knew was beyond him, he hadn’t uttered a word to anyone. He’d long since stopped trying to understand Natasha however so, with a headshake of amazement admitted, “I don’t know yet. It won’t just be my decision.” 

“He’ll want you all to yourself,” she said. “We’ll all miss you while you’re gone.” 

“No one says we’re leaving for sure.” 

“Sometimes you just know.” She patted his arm. “Let’s go find them before Brock outruns Clint and he throws a fit.” 

They flitted across the park and found them with ease, darting between trees trying to reach the clearing first. Brock won and Clint groaned in frustration. Natasha went to his side. “How unfortunate, love.” 

“He’s a newborn, it’s practically cheating.” 

“It’s not my fault,” Brock protested but he was grinning in exhilaration. “Jack! Running -- it’s amazing. It’s like I’m flying or something. I can hardly feel myself touching the ground. It’s _incredible_ .” 

Jack smiled at him and wrapped an arm around him. “I know.” 

“I don’t know how I’ll ever get used to it -- I could run forever.” Brock looked starstruck, drunk with his own abilities. “You never told me being a vampire would be like _this_ .” 

Jack smiled carefully. “I was very fond of you as a human.” 

“But you’re fond of me now too, aren’t you?” 

“Extremely.” 

“So what was the big deal?” 

“I was afraid you’d hate what you are.” 

“What’s there to hate?” Brock asked, bewildered. 

“Feeding off humans?” 

“Oh.” Brock had said as if he’d forgotten. Jack reminded himself he’d yet to take a life himself. “Right.” 

“You get used to it,” Clint contributed. “It’s part of the food chain. Population control, you know?” 

Population control. That was one way to romanticize their murderous ways. It seemed to work on Brock who perked up, shadows clearing from his eyes. “Yeah.” His shoulders slacked. “Want to race again? I promise I’ll go easy on you.” 

“Don’t go easy on me,” Clint said, frustrated. “I’m faster than Nat -- I _gotta_ be faster than you.” 

“Let’s test that theory.” 

The two of them lined up and were gone in a second. Jack sighed heavily. “He knows what it means to be immortal, Jack. He knows the cost. It’ll take him time to comes to terms with it, it took us all time.” 

“What if he doesn’t adjust?” 

“He will. His thirst will help with that. You’ll teach him to hunt humanely. A quick kill without any unnecessary suffering. That’s the best we can do.” 

When Natasha put it that way it sounded as though they were doing the humans a kindness. Keeping down the population, as Clint said. Jack had to remind himself that it was still ugly even if their words wrapped a pretty bow around it. But he’d keep that pretty bow in place for Brock’s sake. Eventually he would see past and when he did Jack hoped he didn’t hate Jack for it. Deep down though he knew Brock wouldn’t. That hatred he feared would never come because their love ran too deeply through them. It ran their veins as blood once had back when they were mortals. Clint and Brock returned. Clint came back first looking pleased. Jack caught Brock’s eye and he winked. Jack suppressed his smile carefully. 

“Told you I was faster,” Clint boasted. 

He seemed to be the only one unaware that Brock had clearly given him the win. “You’re fast,” Brock agreed. 

Clint puffed his chest out. 

All in all Jack could consider it a successful trip. One of many. 

** ** ** **

Brock tried to lunge for the woman passing the alley way. Jack grabbed his shoulder hauling him back with all his strength. Brock snarled and slammed his against the wall, cracking the bricks. Jack didn’t rise to the challenge, blinking calmly at him. The anger at a hunt interrupted broke as he registered his face. The anger faded to horror and then regret. He was off him immediately. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. But look.” 

Brock looked over a gaggle of teenagers passed by laughing about something. “It’s important to focus on more than just your target. Focus on everything around them after you pick them out. Make sure there’s no one near you.” 

Brock nodded his head, his eyes dark. They still had a red tint to them, not quite black. They wanted him hungry. He’d gotten down hunting without a burning thirst, now he was learning control when everything in him demanded he attack blindly. They remained in the alley for three hours, no foot traffic coming through. Jack was about to call it quits and promise a fresh body for him in the morning but then the thumping of a heart met their ears. Brock looked at Jack urgently, excitement lighting up his eyes. Jack smiled and nodded his head. Brock didn’t act immediately though he lowered his body slightly, muscles coiled. He was listening, inhaling to scent the area. 

“There’s no one else?” He was making sure, good. He was still in control, even with a meal approaching. 

“No there isn’t.” 

Brock lowered himself fully and his body went still. The person passed and Brock pounced. He didn’t get the chance shout before a sharp crack echoed around the alleyway. Jack didn’t need to give Brock excessive space to feed. They’d worked down his fight instinct, adjusting him to hunting with Jack. When the body was drained they took it to the bay where they lodged it beneath a rock. Returning to the brownstone Brock was in a good mood, proud of his accomplishment -- as he should be -- and Jack was nearly bursting with pride for him. At home he didn’t downplay his accomplishment and everyone celebrated his control. 

He was almost eight months old at this point, gaining his independence more and more each day. But his love for Jack never waned. The two were inseparable, each day feeling just as thrilling as they had when they had first gotten together. Kissing left them buzzing electricity, incandescence growing more and more each day. There were still leaps and bounds to cover but they’d already gone a considerable distance. 

Regardless Jack looked forward to his future with Brock. The good and the bad, the pleasurable and the painful. As long as it was with Brock it was worth it. Whether they were draining a body, racing through a national park or simply tangled together, each second felt the sweetest gift. And that was a feeling that wasn’t going to let up anytime soon. And for that Jack was thankful. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Whispers would deafen me now](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29789295) by [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999)




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